Burning Bright Before Dying Out...
I often think:The setting Sun
Spreads its kaleidoscope of colours
On the sky
before its ready to die.
The autumn leaves,
Turn yellow to orange to blood red,
Before they fall off,
Float aimlessly,
Then fall to the ground,
Disintegrate and be no more...
The little possum loses all its hair,
In the frenzy of his mating activity,
Before sowing its wild oats,
To produce a brood of 'possumists'...
The shooting star
Before dying out
Spreads its silvery light,
And shows the world a shiny path
Fulfils the wishes of so many hearts-
in the last ditch attempt at glory- before
It disintegrates into the skies...
The moon goes around,
Round and round the beloved earth,
Why?
Traverses the sky every night-
Surrounded by the stars-
But always bears its sorrow alone.
Giving the silvery light to millions-
lighting up their lives,
Bringing hope to those separated,
Evoking tender feelings in the hearts of lovers.
Before dying out it becomes pale yellow,
As if already sorrowful of having to leave the world,
But, becomes even bigger at its last attempt to live
And give off more light, though pale...
It goes on rising till the full-moon-night,
The cycle of life.
The cycle of creation,
Reaching its height on the day fourteenth-
Human creation also reaches its peak
On the fourteenth day- the day of ovulation...
A new life is created, and born-
Moon guides us about that day.
The snow at the mountaintops melts,
Becomes water and starts its
Long arduous journey (of death)
Passes through the mountainous rocks,
Through the fields - lush green-
Giving them the precious elixir of life,
Gathers all the dirt and dust of humanity,
In its deep belly holds so many lives,
Giving them sustenance...
To finally go and be one with
the big vast ocean, and get lost
in the deep waters of the Sea...
The clouds that gather all the water,
With so much labour,
Rising from earth in vapour,
Condensing in a cloud,
And then burst into rain,
Only to mingle back with the soil,
To rise up again-
Start their journey afresh.
Like phoenix rising from the ashes,
Again and again...
Hippocampus mates and dies immediately...
Is Nature telling us something?
What is it trying to say...?
That everything has a purpose in life,
Every one has to strive...
That nothing comes from nothing,
Some thing comes from something...
Is it that we all strive towards that final point?
Procreate, live and die...
But before dying out, shine bright,
Only if for the last time...
Author: Zoya Zaidi
Aligarh (UP), India
Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi
Poetry by Zoya Zaidi
Read 1501 times
Written on 2006-10-09 at 14:54
Tags Life
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