An honest homage

Death trudged along;
A lonely hitchhiker
In a very alive world.
A few lives here
And a few there;
It moved on-
Hardly keeping a count.
Somewhere, in this
dispassionate murder of life-
Loved ones were lost.

Simple things are
The most difficult
To say.
Let us try.
There was life.
And then there was none.

No. It doesn’t make the cut.
Let us try again-
Maybe, they are in a better place.
Maybe, there is a heaven
Where good souls socialize.
– that is a pleasurable thought.
All the peddlars of credulity
Would have you believe
In grey heavens
and afterlives-divine.
Belief is easy.
Should we try belief?

What is a soul?

I am because-
I think.
I think because-
I can.
And that is all there is.
To think and to believe
Are very different things.

Shall we try again, then?
It is necessary
To document
Good lives.
Is otherwise
A drudgery of wars
And deaths.

There was a man.
And now he is dead.
There is a void
Where kindness once was.
Death was not vengeful.
It was life
That was-
And yet simple;
He did well. He was true to himself.
We will leave it at that.

Auguries of existence

Dark fumes in the air,
Engulfing morning’s souvenirs:
The doze of freshness,
The promises of innocence.

Putrid burnt wood,
Filling every corner and nook;
Banishing thoughts bright,
With skeletons of dread and spite.

A piece of paper, charred:
Burnt out stories of eggs and ham,
cindered letters of love, perhaps;
flirting skies it otherwise couldn’t have.

Earnest flames of burning hues,
Devouring life and death, and all within:
The concocted niceties and blunt miseries,
Broken corpses and sentiments therein.

A glorious destruction! The circle of life!
From ashes to tender twigs,
From the singularity to the world as is.
In death, the omen of life,
In destruction, auguries of existence.