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The wise say: live in now’s benign presence,
In time to come nor in one duly dead, 
Buried in graves past stays so ever hence,
And dreams dreamt seldom change from grey to red.
We take greige fibre of life on unfold—
Dye it with rainbow colours of our own,
Weave it with varied warps and woops unrolled,
Fate of the fabric  still remains unknown.
Seeds sown in spring bear no fruits by next fall,
The light and dark shadows we gather here
Cast their imprint on life’s eternal wall,
And fruits of labour may or not appear.
   Man as if on New Year’s dying eve lives,
   One eye on what may come, one on what leaves. 

As Krishna’s Song would ne’er die on book-racks,
Nor Vedic chants stop reverberating,
Nor ever notes of Beethoven’s or Bach’s,
None ever might lose their mystical ring.                                        
So is the charm of unfolding morrow,
Seeds get sown that fruits can be awaited,
The taste stays put, desires forever grow,
If desires die man is as good as dead. 
The soul lives on and on ever again,
The past leaves its tell-tale marks for ever,
Life that lives savour, suffer fruits of pain,
Soul dies but once the journey’s when over.
   The past may die, never its lasting charm,
   Things die leaving fond memories so warm.
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Man ideally should live in the present moment. Yet, he dwells in his past still and also continues to dream. Life gets born amidst this eternal dilemma. The basis of rebirth is desires and the journey of life ends only when all desires die. In a way everyone’s ultimate destiny is the same. The soul merges but once when it realizes the ultimate, and reaches the end of its long journey. Yes, the destiny dies but once. These concepts form the basis of this piece. Duality is at the root of this world we live in, and in acceptance of this reality, this sonnet is a combination of two.  
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    Sonnets | 08.10.08 |
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