Ashes of Death

Our lives being our tragedies
Are someone else’s fairytales.
And as we long for a better life,
Someone does for a life
As livable as ours.

We are all suffering,
We are all breathing,
We are all living,
The pain that we think is killing us
But that ache is the soul’s oxygen-
Even though it burns the insides gradually
It is what keeps our soul alive.

Even though we think
It is destroying us,
Breaking us and
Tearing us,
It is what fuels our wit.

As we all dwell
On the bittersweet pain
And as to death our bodies drain
We are all ashes in the end
Treated as equal cracks
With equal bends.

The anxiety of the uncertain
That was once diagnosed as levels 1 and 4,
Is now equally dusted;
Equally rusted.

The pain of suffering has
Escaped the soul as
When we stop suffering,
We should know we’re dead.

The residue of
Wisdom and pain and light,
Absorbed by the universe.
What’s left are ashes as specs of dust
The rest feeling the pain as they must.

Muskaan Sancheti


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