There Is No New Song

In this world there exists little that's rare, Thoughts born eons ere with bare roots survive, Whose vestiges from life to life souls bear, The gross gets graved, the subtle re-arrive. On wondrous ways of mind we get beguiled, Which when inventing eureka point spells, It scans from copious points piled and compiled, That with our mundane logic never gels. Since cosmic egg ought be oval or round, Things must return to where it started ere, In a cosmic flight infinity bound, The vast and void the same one spot doth share. Man seems to be the child of his old chime, He sings his song with same refrain, same rhyme. ______________________________________________________ The soul carries subtle impressions of life through death to new birth. We know, when we pursue an idea with all heart and soul, universal energy seems to help us. Man continues with his unfinished journey birth to birth. In a way pursues the same task, same ideas. And hence there is no new song. ______________________________________________________ Sonnets | 07.10.08 |