At the vaulting dome waves refused to travel
Unless on a few pieces of silver and a name.
The flying metallic bird will take two full hours
These angels in turquoise will feed our appetites.
There is fear lurking in our minds behind bravado.
We try to shut out noises of after-death and failure
We blame ourselves for all our stupid failures
As though they really mattered to us and the dead.
We then read patterns in the grayed whys of decay.
As though the whole thing is a science of death
And we have nearly mastered the art of dying,
Of succumbing to the need to maintain transience.
We smugly wear the polyester film of transience about us
We read poetry in the trivial tragedies of their tatters.
Comments about this poem (Transience by Jagannath rao Adukuri )
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