Can you tell if that pile of ash was a rich man, poor man, happy man, sad man?
Can you tell if he was a Muslim, Hindu, or nonbeliever?
It surely makes no difference to the bugs crawling all around it.
That pile of ash couldn’t be more alive, for it has come to truth-death.
Do you know the inescapable truth?
All are born, and all must die.
Please waste your time denying this fact
It provides me with needed entertainment.
Part of living is dying.
Yet you waste your time trying to organize your thoughts.
Time wilts in your attempts to argue over proper ways to live, eat, and think
But don’t let me intrude on your play.
For one day, you will be just a pile of ash
Or buried six feet in the ground
Pick your poison.
If you think death is the end
You couldn’t be more wrong.
For the odyssey never ceases.
Just like my love for Rama.