The Only Truth Called “Death”

What through the mind of the burning firewood runs
the thought numbs me with perplexity.
When alight and they put smiles on the landscape
We surround, throwing arms around each other’s neck.
The smile fades gradually, except the moonlight.
It is on the wane before we fall asleep.

We come to life again, but the fire is no more,
Neither a fragment of the wood remains.
Alas! they have turned into a heap of ash
Which the afternoon breeze scatters
and takes away piece by piece.
We, however, continue witnessing the death of more firewood
Until we undergo the same fate.

by Noru Sherpa

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