Just a dot

What it’s like to be a dot on a paper?
Its so unbelievable that our life is a mere dot,
Though we strive each dawn and dusk for everything we could gain,
For our mind and our body,
As we inhale this outside world,
We neglect the needs of our soul,
Infact is there anything our soul need?
Or is there anything else that strings our breath,
With this thought raging through,
I realize how naive we are,
To search for something that belongs to us,
Everywhere we go, everything we touch,
A miracle to superficial skins and face,
I wish we could be a page from a historian’s mind,
I wish we could dream like a cherrry blossom tree,
Is there anything we could do to live?
Is there anything we could be to live?