The Dance of death in Life

I am in cold Nairobi, seated by the window of a high rise building on the tenth floor. I am looking at all the masses of people seething on the pavements below. What drives them? There this lady who is walking so fast across the street she does not seem to be looking at the traffic. What troubles push her? Or is it an urgency for the unknown, a destiny unwinding should a car's bumper kiss her legs and she feels the cold rough tarmac's caress?

The there is this man, he is walking casually, stopping every now and then to look across the street and behind.He is behaving like a man with no care in the world, or a person trying to hide among the crowds. I have no idea, I wish I was close enough to see his face. He has just brushed shoulders with some lady with longish hair, looks cute but I cannot tell from this distance. He turns to admire her from behind then walks on.

I cant help asking myself, what drives all these people. Am I also part of the faceless, formless crowd? Always running to some place or no place? what am I doing in the office on such a cold day? 

I have to tear myself from my friends on the pavement but the image remains with me. I wonder how life would be if we could get answers for all our questions, solutions for all our worries. But it is not so, for life has a momentum of its own, a unique rhythm, a dance that  spares no one. Forcing us to dance the dance of death in life, and yearn for life in death.