Void Is Void Poem by chayamsu v r

Full of void,
not knowing
when it's filled
with all sorts of this and that
to pervade as contagion.
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like the scent of a fallen flower,
into an oblivion of rendezvous,
interminably as others do,
forgetting*, it was once a blossom,
that spread more fragrant a smell,
and swelled the nostrils to thrill,
when they poked their nose
and inhaled freely others.

they were there full of life,
for them not at all a strife.**)
they poked the fire and removed the ash
which promoted burning;
and fed on simply moaning,
in the flames steadily sweeping.

the bone-smelling ashes,
which is not able to remember,
whose being made this much ash,
they clean, to prod with a stick,
even in her ribs, made the ages weak; ***

to search through a receptacle:
which once she cared as life,
full of hopes to enjoy aloof,
but to share with others' life
though all stood seeing spectacle;
as usual they all rummaged,
in others' pockets,
for a handkerchief
wet with their industry,
to wet their dried eyes,
like the hearts of chief mourners.

and at length to modify the trash
with new born infant jealousies
that would rise you to the chance,
when they heard her say:
'all these are not for me,
all these are not for me.'