The pieces were all white,
Distinguishable only by their shape.
Kept in a shallow open box,
They were scattered and piled.
It was chaos, yet contained, curfewed.
Vigorously, the box shook;
The pieces jumped high and settled.
The shaking repeated itself,
Again, the pieces configured.
Indefinite iterations passed
Before there was perfect harmony.
The blocks fitted like fabric,
The puzzle: solved.
Yet, unanticipatedly, the box shook;
The pieces were new and numerous,
And the solution: unknown.
Life mimics a jigsaw puzzle that resets everyday. Chaos is all one sees inside the box, waiting to get resolved. Even though the puzzle seems unsolvable, a perfect solution exists. All the chaos which storms about, interlocks and weaves only to converge and disentangle.
New pieces show up and reconcile with every iteration. Stress can only add to the chaos, without contributing to the solution. The mayhem will always settle to show another sunrise.