97M

Ninety-seven million people

Everyone is a blur

With ninety-seven million people

Chances of us ever meeting

Leave it to impossible likelihood.

But take away the 96,999,998

We are not groping in the dark

Take away the 96,999,998

Wouldn't take a rocket scientist

To know

And accept

And understand

That providence

And destiny

And perfect timing

Is working in harmony.

Because ninety-seven million people

Can leave us both paralyzed

And resigned 

And content

Left alone to tend to ourselves

And that could be disastrous.

With ninety-seven million people

There could be 

A lot of possibilities

But none is more tragic

Than when 96,999,998 people

Could hinder us

To come across

And be together.