# Rapture (The Celebration) Poem by Sonya Florentino

Sonya, this is such a meaningful poem. 'It seems that no one understands that the end is coming, ' is the most powerful verse for me. My take is, hold to your convictions - despite what others do. Only you and God knows what is 'best' for you. Very encouraging piece. Beautifully done.

How dare other people feel happy when we are having troubles or don't feel our usual happy self. I loved your idea of this poem and the flow is great. Well done! 10 Karin Anderson

I think you've drawn a line Sonya, from where we are to where we're going...and I agree, it looks like we're heading into madness. But what the heck...! N: -)

This poem is similar to the poem written by Swami Vivekananda........Here is the poem.... My Play Is Done Ever rising, ever falling with the waves of time, still rolling on I go From fleeting scene to scene ephemeral, with life's currents' ebb and flow. Oh! I am sick of this unending force; these shows they please no more, This ever running, never reaching, nor e'en a distant glimpse of shore! From life to life I'm waiting at the gates, alas, they open not. Dim are my eyes with vain attempt to catch one ray long sought. On little life's high, narrow bridge I stand and see below The struggling, crying, laughing throng. For what? No one can know. In front yon gates stand frowning dark, and say: `No farther away, This is the limit; tempt not Fate, bear it as best you may; Go, mix with them and drink this cup and be as mad as they. Who dares to know but comes to grief; stop then, and with them stay.' Alas for me, I cannot rest. This floating bubble, earth- Its hollow form, its hollow name, its hollow death and birth- For me is nothing. How i long to get beyond the crust Of name and form! Ah, open the gates; to me they open must. Open the gates of light, O Mother, to me Thy tired son. I long, oh, long to return home! Mother, my play is done. You sent me out in the dark to play and wore a frightful mask; Then hope departed, terror came, and play became a task. Tossed to and fro, from wave to wave in this seething, surging sea Of passions strong and sorrows deep, grief is, and joy to be. Where life is living death, alas! and death- who knows but `tis Another start, another round of this old wheel of grief and bliss? Where children dream bright, golden dreams, too soon to find them dust, And aye look back to hope long lost and life a mass of rust! Too late, the knowledge age doth gain; scare from the wheel we're gone. When fresh, young lives put their strength to the wheel, which thus goes on From day to day and year to year. 'Tis but delusion's toy, False hope its motor; desire, nave; its spokes are grief and joy. I go adrift and know not whither. Save from this fire! Rescue me, merciful Mother, from floating with desire! Turn not to me Thy awful face, 'tis more than I can bear, Be merciful and kind to me, to chide my faults forbear. Take me, O Mother, to those shores where strifes for ever cease; Beyond all sorrows, beyond tears, beyond e'en earthly bliss; Whose glory neither sun, nor moon, nor stars that twinkle bright, Nor flash of lightning can express. They but reflect its light. Let never more delusive dreams veil off Thy face from me. My play is done; O Mother, break my chains and make me free! - Swami Vivekananda ('My Play is Done' was composed on 16th March 1895 when he was in New York.) Swami Vivekananda

I'm sure we have all known a feeling like this, but what a dark ending to the poem, in contrast to the upbeat title. Perhaps life isn't all that bad after all.