Spinning Out! Poem by Gule Rukhsar

There's a ruthless cycle,
spinning endlessly,
dragging my beginning toward its end
and still, it starts again.
Birth, death, rebirth,
a dance of passion and hollow flame,
burning bright, then burning out.

Should I summon the Ouroboros?
But no!
The light slips through my hands,
just a breath away,
withering,
fleeting.
I reach... I reach
but it dissolves,
like ash in the wind,
like vapor in the night.
Withering, fleeting...
And still, I go on.

Our passions and desires are as fleeting as time;
we come, we live, we die! We are full of hope and then we are not. We see the light and then we are blind.