even the curtains that separate the different acts of my life,
they too shall pass,
shall turn to dust and nothingness;
for they too shall die,
I question the validity of pain–
on the hills of reminiscence,
Looking back at my wayward life,
and all the battles I fought in vain.
Those with myself, and those with my brothers,
Those with God, and all the others.
I question the reason in living–
on the plains of endless loss,
considering all the lives that were,
and all that may come to be.
I see them rise and fall like me,
a few droplets in the sea,
born at loss, who fight for loss,
nevermore to live so free.
I question the permanence of death–
in the sea of spiritual knowledge,
and whether the land we move to, in death,
is leased to us, if only for some time,
and whether once forgotten, we are recast,
into this world again,
to make the same mistakes,
only with different faces,
to live this life again.
But I know that thoughts,
are thoughts of thoughts,
they too shall pass.