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A man devout in fasting, prayer and pleas
Made much of what his holiness could do
But pride became a flaw when he asked me
Who are you that I should pray for you?

The warm hand that I held has turned to dust
Yet I sense its presence here in mine today
I wish I could restore the loves  I’ve lost
And carry  willingly the  total cost
I loved your repartee, oh voice of trust
I feel an emptiness  where mystics pray
The warm hand I experienced  turned to dust
The total loss accepted is my prayer,

The face that was familiar is no more
Yet in my dreams ,he is alive again
If ,by a chance, his life could be restored
It would affect me like the hidden chord
Which played, my   own life  force would   go.
That one must live and one must die is plain
The face that was familiar is no more.
Yet in my dreams ,he is alive again

In between the  blackness and the bright,

Graded shades of grey and lilac lie.

These variegated  colours give delight.

And from my soul, I hear a happy sigh.

 

As we live, we dwell in mysteries;

Must take decisions based on  various views.

And unknown memories from our history

Bring out  the old then misperceive the new.

 

For  true perception, we must humble be.

Not for moral reasons but for sight.

The emptiness   lets flood creative seas.

And allows  bright  rays of  guiding golden  light.

 

We need to know we do not know at all.

And, trembling, hold  the doors of vision wide.

So gentle  should be judgements when we fail.

Then errors  we’ll appreciate, not hide.

 

We will  deal with life unknown, unclear;

Perception is  a better   guide than  fear