in this futility
of the spasms of existence,
some cobwebs,
still unstirred,
support this life of mine,
in their indelible words
of a forgotten wisdom.
the aum-kaar
that spur as the first voice,
of the created universe,
still echoes in my veins,
and arrives in the pupil of my eyes,
as the secret of my being.
in the constant chaos,
of this holocaust that my innerworld is,
as some shooting debris,
my emotions evolve,
and stamp their thunder,
as the pugmarks on the moon.
and the scattering stardust
is the ashes of my long lost
sputtered incarnations
heaving softly,
each time the creator breathes….
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