THE MYSTERY

Great and small minds alike
The sagacious and the idiotic
Labour daily in vain as they
ponder upon the deep things.
Seeing, but lacking the gift of
penetration
They are confounded by the
mystery.
Ours is but to pause and listen
To the sound of the apocalyptic
drum
Played by the minions of fate
And man, born of a woman, is
the soul of the dance macabre.

In this life, we are coming in from
the cold
And at the end of our journey
Our mortal remains are entombed
in the bowels of the earth
With total darkness enveloping the
six-foot depth.
The life we live here is a prelude
to the hereafter
And we have to die a thousand
deaths
Before we can get to the mountain
top of nirvana.

Petulant creature, gripped by fatalistic
desires
Is contemplating the easiest way out of
the misery:
Should I cut off my manhood for the
mortification of the flesh?
Or should I drown myself for the
purification of the body?
The grey-haired one understands
the mystery
And as flashes of the imminent trajectory
go through his mind
He bids the neophytes to forget
the misery
For life is a jigsaw puzzle and death
a reality
Only the Supernatural in whose palms
our destiny is inscribed
Can unravel the mystery of
life and death.