Tuesday, August 16, 2016


the house that my father built
lies desolate
weeds have run over
the flower beds
the fruit trees
are barren
someone smashed
the window glasses
and wind rushes in
and rain water
and birds
that do not find
shelter elsewhere
the walls that
stood high and proud
have crumbled
the Ashoka trees
alone remind
one of the glorious
dreams the house was built upon
he lived there but a year
or two
and then passed on
and I often wonder
as I go about
setting my
house in order
how soon before
another house
another dream
dust to dust
ashes to ashes
how fragile are
the foundations we
build our lives on
if impermanence were
the first lesson
in school
would our lives
be any different ?