Siamese Twins Of Choice

I am drunk on questions
placed before me by Siamese twins of choice,
two futures stitched at the wrist,
each tugging my pulse in a different direction.

Which hand do I hold
without betraying the other?

I call them my children,
yet I cannot tell who is elder,
who is wiser,
who carries the gentler ruin.

Like time,
they refuse retirement.
They age me instead.

Life keeps smuggling paradoxes into my pockets
I empty them out
only to find my hands still full.

Irony falls like a stubborn rain,
soaking even my certainties.
Each time I whisper, Now I know,
ignorance laughs
and tears my robe of confidence in public.

I stand naked in the street of my own mind,
applauded by doubts,
judged by questions,
learning that wisdom is not arrival
it is the courage
to keep walking
while undecided.