Wrapped In A Dream

The rancid realization clings to life,
that most of it is predefined by things
way beyond its own mere grasp, like the borders
of its origin and inheritance!

  

What can a life do about whence it came?
This life that responds to a certain name,
with certain aspirations held inside
a thick shell of skin with eyes, ears and limbs
and the face of a wanderer was born
with nothing, in nowhere, to oblivion!

   

Could it have settled down accepting the accepted norms?
But it’s way too late to wonder what could have been,
this river in spate has almost run its due course,
let this spent life pass its remaining hours wrapped in a dream!

---

 

By Time

By the cold ticking hands of time I swear,
I have never held a grudge against anyone
save myself, my bitter self, too eager
always, to rectify and looking for the sun
even within the heaviest, darkest cloud!

   

By the unforgiving hands of time I promise,
there shall not be a tremor at my heart
for anything even a little less than what is
the origin of all the things and love,
anymore, I swear, so you’d better have no doubt!

  

By the ever gyrating hands of time I guarantee
this time around no well would ever cascade into springs!
I am the garden, unseeded, whose flowers’ knell has been rung,
fading away. So, break my heart for I must hold my tongue!

.

---

 

Like A River

I have lived my life like a river does
from the beginning and for the rest of my life,
I am determined to keep on doing so…

High above the mountain ridge I was born;
sired by a bright and fierce sun, burning down his love
on the blue waters of a distant sea;
then my mother, a heavy cloud, floating northward,
brought me here in her womb and thus I came to be.

Ever since my humble birth I have been flowing down
through the hills, forests, plains and lands, lying low,
back towards the place of my origin, my home
on the waters, far away, of an ocean, blue.

In the beginning, my stream was as transparent
as innocence and as fast as the whims
of an ignorant mind, yet unexposed
to the ways of the human world but as I kept
getting closer to my destiny through that world,
I have become wider, sluggish and murky too…

Now the breadth of my opaque sins have grown too wide
and I wonder still how far might that ocean be!

The Soul…

When death reclaims the soul, where does it go?

Whether they return to their origin
or if in the end they just cease to be!

Our body, made of dust, returns to dust
and soon nothing but the bones remain.

Our memories of happiness and woe
begin to fade as well to oblivion.

But what about the incorporeal soul?