This is really more killing <br />And cancerous than knowing <br />That the way is coming full circle: <br />The thought that our time is up <br />And the world is much better off <br />Sans a self is like a renunciation: <br /> <br />The cosmos and the cares <br />The bonds and the belongings <br />The bondages and the liberties <br />The faiths and the failings <br />All those sweats and tears <br />The affluence and emptiness <br />The lights and darkness <br />The shelters and shades <br />The misgivings and misfortunes <br />The guts and egos <br />All get incorporated in it. <br /> <br />This renunciation looms large <br />And larger all over, making things <br />Look like the aftermath of death. <br />It is a pall suspended feather-like <br />Right over the faces of things, <br />Blurring the most beautiful <br />Into blotted portraits. <br /> <br />When eyes go haplessly groping <br />Deeper in the finest of lights, <br />Who the Heaven is able to find <br />The numb moves of death around? <br /> <br />‘That it doesn’t make any difference’ <br />Doesn’t make it unimportant either. <br />Death is important for all the ones <br />Who see that their ways aren’t that longer.<br /><br />A. Jayaprakash Jayaprakash Panicker<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/it-s-all-over-not-again/
