The Inexpressible
Death is no disintegration; it is to be quits.
It’s repaying nature what we already owe it.
All the elements go back to their origin
Whence they flourished in the airy-fairy fabric.
There is no sorrow in breaking a journey;
Bemoan the first step and the waft of luck.
The nectar of consciousness pervades the universe,
But we trail our bloated ego in a trough.
It’s not the same flame that burns the whole night,
Nor is it the same spectacle spinning above in the sky.
Energy is constant, why grieve about the change?
Soul does return in the garb of a different name.
But is it the soul that hitches a ride with matter?
Why does it discard a body in favour of the other?
What guides a soul’s journey, ‘karmas’ or destiny?
Is soul on a mission or, just on a dramatic spree?
It’s not merely eternity that eternity forms,
Time, a moment in flux also enthrals.
Spirit and matter both fuse and present a mirage,
There is no end to the ethereal, nor to the gross.
Micro and macro are relative terms;
Finite and infinite too cover each other well.
Is it possible for any one to perceive
Where do they part and where do they meet?
