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I was thinking of my good old grandpa,
I loved him so much and called him Bababa.
He was my favorite person in my life,
He was always in peace even in his strife.
He was kind and giving, joyful to us all.
He made us to believe we’re big and we’re tall.
I loved him and he loved me so ever much,
His voice was lovely and his kiss was as such.
Although, he left us and long time he is gone.
He wanted me to know life is going on.
I am thinking of him, he lives within me.
If I die who remembers me, where I’ll be?
We are destined to live, grow old and then die.
Somehow we all do it without knowing why?
We are just like a breeze at dawn blind at heart,
In this vanished abode there is no new start.
My grandpa was the moth, death the unseen flame,
In this trap who’s the hunter, what is his name?
I asked myself a thousand times, perhaps more;
How come there is so much pain, what’s the pain for?
Maybe there is a God and this is my hell.
Suspect, I may, but only time, it might tell.
If I see God, I will ask him, what I’ve done?
How come I am what I am, ten, without one?
How come you make and then break us without shame.
To us is life; to you perhaps is a game.
If you are the creator, then you should make,
Please do not break me as a mistake.
You made me and you made me so ever nice,
Now you wanted to break me like block of ice!
That is okay it is not me that I failed.
I lived my life; it is as though I’ve prevailed.
I got married and laughed, played a few games,
Where were you up to now, I called you with names.
Never showed up to my sadness and my pain,
What do you want from me? I am not insane.
Maybe the story that I read, was all wrong.
I heard a symphony without any song.
Maybe there was the Bang, came from the Big Crunch,
Maybe there is a loop we’re there as a bunch.
I know my particles in my body well.
They’re just temporary in me, I can tell.
I know my particles they lived from day one,
I am custodian until they are gone.
I’m not worried that what will be out there,
I will be part of that, oneness, without care.
The next time when you see raindrops or some dew,
That water might have come from me, it is true.
Remember me; I’ll be part of the sunset,
Who came once as a man with doubt and regret.
Note: This particular style of poetry is called "Masnavi", it is the spiritual couplets usually with eleven syllables. Poetrysoup has a great explanation and example of this form of poetry.
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