... the hair
all directing to the inevitable
the destiny of the dust
The final abode
of this dusty and rusty powder
the judgment of the Porter.
it keeps ringing.
so aloud in my heart
the foolish choice the first
the lie of the serpent
the deception of the sense
the subtle desire to be God.
Each and every fall
the wrinkle of the skin
the fading of the glamour
springs hope in me
the hope of dawning morn
which the second Man
brought on the crossed planks
for those who believe
in His sacrifice and Person.
(To him whose last word to me was 'I've not been seeing ur poems')
