Tuesday, October 18, 2016

A Good life

Death conquers all.
There is so much arrogance in audience.
The dying take center stage.

 All but  the newborn's cry are upstaged.
The baby's wail alone is more commanding,
Than groan or keening lamentation.

Somewhere a fat lady sings.
The soldier says the bullet
Has the name on it.

Practicing the presence:
The infinite mystery, inexplicable.
There is no rushing ultimate reality,
In the margins of existence,
We wait.


The good death is refined.
Messy with elegance,
Dying, an art beyond all art.
The tea brewed to perfection.
Is savoured to the last drop.

Love  is in the outlying.
Departures and meetings, meaningful.
The melody goes beyond the lyrics;
The silence  outlasts the storm.

Thank you for your gifts, dear brother.
Thank you for making this home.

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