The feeling of Dejavu, is actually histories repeat themselves
So often, so assured, it will never happened
Nonetheless, at the end, it did, how amusing, how painful
The only consolation was it wasn't as bad as it used to be
As little improvement as there it, there is
After all, we are just never perfect, is it?
Long before the journey began, there was a time of reflections
The past, the mistakes, the hopes, the inspiration, the aspirations
Then the journey started, the sparks, the chemistry, the fireworks
Love, lust, infactuation, the flings and the flirts
What do you really call the feelings that spur at the moment
Growing in such great momentum
Yet for a moment, the steps halted, making a choice
The crossroads.
The plans, the goals, the ultimate of not making the same mistakes
Somehow only seem doomed eventually, as all partake
Histories repeated themselves, in their own manifestations
Everything has well been taken care off, adjusted and discussed
So diplomatically, rational, so logical, yet who would ever guessed
This would be the ending, at the end.
Some learnt again and again, rather painstakingly
But learning in life is never ending
Or would we rather be ingorant, point a finger at someone else
And claim ourselves the best, claim ourselves perfect as well
Who are to say that faults are within US (You and I)
Perhaps not all facts all gathered, unintented.
Histories Repeat themselves
That is true as well
The same sentiments, the same path, the same outcome
If there is any different, there is nothing to mourn nor talk about
But as historian wants to change the facts of life and history
It is critical to look ALL AROUND
Like counsellors learnt of the sub-conscious and the NOW
Every action has a reaction
Every reaction has a different perception
Every perception brews different emotion
Every emotions spurs different judgement
Indeed history repeat themselves, like a vicious cycle in life
That nobody can deny
We can do something about it, can't we
But did we do it accurately, precisely and correctly?
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