Death

Fearless, calm, soothed by an unexplained
Void: Either dark o filled with light, all is gained,
Mixing with the infinitum of the Cosmos:
By dust, feeding life of many forms and making
Its presence a nothingness to reality.
Breaking particles of dust to smaller pieces,
Each beating the sound of the universe, and sight,
Of darkness even in light or light in darkness.
No taste to cherish fruits of pleasure, but
Thought: the presence of a treasure,
To be in itself: a moment of Everything.

The Bhikshuk

Humble and proud, wrinkled scars showed
A purity picked in her eyes, that smiled a trace of time;
Of age and a wisdom of non belonging, a stick to aid
Her travelling feet: head pointing to stars and base
Pointing to mud; The simplicity of a stroller with an
Empty bowl in a sea of thoughts; not thirsty though,
The smile catches on as her old hand trembles: to lift
And bless- compassion and care with nothing to lose;
Nor, to gain, lifts her stick again for
Another stroll, on another plane

The Classroom

One bag, heavy with books on text, and one

To exercise voices, faces, without

Argument: a blank stare on faceless masks,

Feet pointed to doors tightly shut, silent;

Like  a dead river, that froze in winter :

Fish swim under layers of ice, the Sun fails

To melt; Gentle taps of finger on the desk,

Imitating norms in diction, voice and

Thought: A gentler hum turns to buzz, nodding

Heads and chorus bursts with fish-hooks cracking

Ice; Or more often trained parrots talking, amusing,

For just a treat: of chilli flakes, a gentle tap,

What it knows, while it treats, knowing of

A meal to get and a place to rest.