Saturday, May 03, 2003
This is a more formal poem I wrote - constrained by the rhyme. I usually prefer a more flowing style. But see what you think:
Requiem
Not for you a stony plaque
With flowers weeping drily:
Nor wooden borders rising stark
To cage your anguished bones.
Your breath fled free from that still bed
And flesh escaped in fire;
And ashes too it will be said
Will drift on mountain high.
When morning comes the sun will kiss
My tears on icy sleet;
And melting streams of crystal bliss
Will mingle in the sea.
27/3/03
It's one of my feelings about death. I don't know if there is life after death. Scientifically, no one has ever proved it to me, although I'd like to believe it. But I do take some comfort in the fact that our molecules at least will rejoin the grand cycle of life after we die, and therefore we will again become the sea, the sky, and the life all around.
Another idea I agree with has been expressed eloquently by Pasternak:
But all the time life, always one and the same, always incomprehensibly keeping its identity, fills the universe and is renewed at every moment in innumerable combinations and metamorphoses….. Consciousness is a beam of light directed outwards, it lights up the way ahead of us…. You in others are yourself, your soul. This is what you are. This is what your consciousness has breathed and lived on and enjoyed throughout your life. – Your soul, your immortality, your life in others. And what now? You have always been in others and you will remain in others. And what does it matter to you if later on it is called your memory? This will be you – the you that enters the future and becomes a part of it.- from “Dr Zhivago” by Boris Pasternak, English translation 1958.
Piokiwi 12:19 pm
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