Mosaic A Infinite Poem by Praveen Nautiyal

Life is a beautiful flower which reeks of death;
but like withered flower every mortal sees (ignores) death.

Life, you, spiral of rotating disaster,
I remained ignorant to variegated contradictions and submissions
trying beholding calm at its core;
But, sometimes bring submersible instinct to a revolt aiming to connect unforeseeable glimpses;
Like a droplet on a holy dusty figurine slithering down its unslaked lustful fingers,
touching without knowing and falling whence it came.

Collecting vice causing only a ripple,
ripple of vice on benighted surface and muck at its core.

Whirling the vortex evermore and it feels like you are falling far and far
getting smaller and smaller to the brink of a vibration in the unknown undulating into past and future.

And there Death longed to reach; but could not rankle,
where Life surrounds life in ever appealing circle.