Vitae Spiritum Poem by Aaryan Irani

The breath of life
Doesn't lie still in profound waters,
Nor in seedlings rife.
The breath
Lives not within the womb
It echoes through one's tomb
In rusting leaves
And bitter wind.
From dust, to dust,
Repeated ever since
The birth of the world
From the ashes of another.

It lies not within
Sweet chirps
Of the morning fowl,
But the clarion call
Of the great horned owl.
It is the great sleep of winter
That gives birth to all,
For the cycle is but a transformation.
Hark to its silent haul;
To be born once more
To death all must come
And spring to the song of
Vitae spiritum