The egg lives on— caterpillar to be,
And this voracious worm when sheds its skin,
To hide unto a shell all so hardy,
Gets born alive, be butterfly within,
And soon dies, painted wings fall to wither,
Manure to be for plants that grow to bloom,
That, birds and bees can feed on its nectar
And lay eggs, new cycles of life to groom.
Or take a frozen snowflake's icy chunk,
Take droplets of water, see how hot steam
Transforms, all keeping cool face of a monk;
Notso dies vain, nor fails to live its dream.
What we call death is an eternal cycle
Of change; and thou O Death be a miracle!
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In death, body matter merges into elements— from matter to energy, an ever-changing cycle, a quantum change. When the contents of an egg become a caterpillar, it is only transformation, no death; so also when caterpillar transforms into butterfly. Only, some changes are not so visible.
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Sonnets | 03.11.11 |
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Excellent logic, making death meaningful. Death of egg giving birth to another creature is indeed a transformation and the life on earth is nothing but transformation from one thing to another, A thoughtful Poem, Nothing less than 10+++++++
I don't know, Mohammed Nehal, how to thank you enough for paying attention to this favourite poem of mine that had not attracted anyone's attention so far. I must say you have a eye, a poetic eye.
Thank you Mohammed Nehal, I don't know how to thank you enough to pay attention to this favourite poem of mine that had remained untouched by any eye at PH. I must say you have an eye of a poet.
Thank you Mohammed Nehal, and good to meet a friend poet who likes Sanskrit, our ancient heritage.