Life Is Depth, Not Length

Something has long been signalling men to slow down, To explore lasting peace welling from deep within, Stepping aside for a while to drown mundane din, O to reclaim his face from what looks like a frown. To enjoy soft caress left by the kiss of time, To tune in to soul's rhythm, and heart's soulful been1, Enriching it with what be vague but still sublime, Relax— to be in touch with the real thee serene. But man rushes thro life of many a long mile To arrive by surrendering soul's precious bliss, Remaining still a stranger as if on an isle, A migrant like a warm-weather-seeking ibis! The soul nor has eyes to see nor yet nose to smell, Nor sense of touch, of speech, nor has ears that can hear, Tongue, nor ever taste, it casts still a lasting spell— Man still can be in touch if drives in a slow gear. In man's needless hurry soul feels harried and lost, If only he takes time to be ever present, And have a tryst with the life's unwinding moment, Condemned if not, spend life with that wannabe ghost. Man hardly knows, life scarce is mere length he's alive, That, life is depth to be explored more than long drive; He aught know destiny's well is well-provided, Let him guard his life's buckets are not shallow-fed. But man well knows pretty all this and more, And still keeps doing what he did to fore. ______________________________________________________ 1. Been: A musical string instrument known as Veena ______________________________________________________ Musings | 04.10.07 |