Do you remember, being in the backseat of the car
Barely a teenager and thinking what happens
After death. That singularity without tangibility.
You look at all the evidences coughed
Out by pages, written in Sanskrit and Hebrew.
Samsara, the reincarnations of our
Own selves and eternal life, that speaks
Of heaven as a donor of an eternity.
Still you know science tells you otherwise.
We are only a strain of transience
A species trapped in impermanence
Looking out through a lens at providence
Unable to make sense of it all.
The road is long, longer than you and I
Can gather and yet shorter than we
Wish for. Death will always be that full stop
The syntax of a poetic verse that abridges
At the settlement of a dot. We are only
Logs of flesh that will feed saprophytes one day
And that leap of faith, that leap into a void,
Will only feed our system, when we
Encounter that finish line. How beautiful
Not knowing where the soul goes,
To where no one knows. We are all Abrahams
Making a sacrifice in faith, on an alter of
A wooden box, in that jump from
Consciousness to a riddle that knows
No answer, knows no alibi, just
A mammoth cloud eclipsing the moon
And your eyes that have spectacular vision
Become exiled in darkness, a perpetual blackout
When there are no tungsten filaments
Just a broken hull, exonerated in time
And fixed in space, not knowing the answer
To that question mark and yet, knowing that
The truth can be so spectacular, when the soul
Becomes free, to roam the endless plains,
The wilderness that lies beyond,
Leaving no trail or proof,
Like decimals of dust, blowing through,
To the great unknown.