The burning pyre

His face was aglow and in his eyes shone the burning pyre The trickle of tears had failed to lessen the pain

He stood there as if in a trance, holding to his father’s fingers

Staring ahead at the burning pyre- the way to heaven for his grandsire

He is comforted by his father’s presence, but is unable to understand, Why those shoulders on which he sat high are hunched and sad today.

He sees his father’s eyes aglow with the leaping flames Not realizing it then that his would be soon aglow again

He is brought back from his wandering thoughts by a tug at his sleeve, He bends down to pick up his son, and at last that place they leave

No-one, not even his son knows that he’ll be back one day there, To light his father’s pyre, and stare again at the orange fire.

The Transient Pearl

And there she lay in the cusp of a petal,

Glazed with the softest beams of the morning sun.

Nascent like the first creation.


Shivered the petals as I treaded close.

Quivered the transparent beads of light.
But she remained unmoved.

...a lonesome night...

A feeling of being incomplete,
Like an emptiness within,

statics and dynamics

 

Life brings questions. More questions than there are answers or multiple answers for the same question?

Are we looking for an objective answer? Or trying to assuage our inquiry of self? Does one discover oneself through the introspection of their trials and tribulations?

Maybe better off are those who are simple in their inquiry. Who accept scriptures or sayings of individuals whose words are interpreted by each subsequent transfer.