Destiny Dies But Once Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

The wise say: live in now's benign presence,
Not in times yet to come, nor duly dead,
The past's buried in graves deep, dark and dense,
No sunshine falls on one dreaming in shed.
We take the fibre of life on unfold—
Dye it with rainbow colours on our own,
Weave it with all the warps and woops unrolled
The fate of fabric still remains unknown.
Seeds sown in spring bear no fruits by next fall,
The light and dark shadows we gather here
Cast their imprint on life's eternal wall,
And fruits of labour may or not appear.
Man as if on New Year's dying eve lives,
One eye on what may come, one on what leaves.

As Krishna's Song would ne'er die on book-racks,
Nor Vedic chants stop reverberating,
Nor ever notes of Beethoven's or Bach's,
None would ever lose mystical a ring.
So is the charm of unfolding morrow,
If seeds be sown fruits sure are awaited,
The taste remains, desire ever on grow,
Desires dying, man is as good as dead.
So then the soul lives on time and again,
The past leaves its tell-tale marks for ever,
Man must savour or suffer fruits of pain,
Soul dies but once the journey's when over.
The past may die, never its lasting charm,
Things die leaving fond memories so warm.
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Man ideally should live in the present moment, but would continue still to dream coming from the world of past. The life gets born on the wings of this eternal dilemma. The basis of rebirth is desire and the journey of life ends only when all desires die. In a way everyone's ultimate destiny is the same. The soul merges but once when it realises the ultimate, and reaches the end of its long journey. Yes, the destiny dies but once. These concepts form the basis of this piece, which is actually a combination of two sonnets.
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Sonnets | 08.10.08 |