There Is No New Song

If this world scarce were new, save what was there, Thoughts born eons ere with bare roots survive, Whose vestiges the soul from death doth bear, The gross gets graved, the subtle re-arrive. We wonder on ways of brain, get beguiled, Which, struggling to invent, right points spells From amidst copious points piled and compiled, But which with mundane logic never gels. Since cosmic egg aught be oval or round, Things aught return to where it started ere, In all cosmic flights infinity bound, The vast and void the same one spot doth share. Man seems to be the child of his old chime, He sings his song with same refrain, same rhyme. ______________________________________________________ The soul carries subtle impressions from death to new birth, and does not need to reinvent the wheel. We all know when we pursue an idea with all heart and soul, universal energy seems to help us. Man continues with his unfinished journey birth to birth; pursues the same task, same ideas. And hence there is no new song. ______________________________________________________ Sonnets | 07.10.08 |