Death is one of those subjects your thoughts keep coming back to. I wrote the first two stanzas of this poem more than five years ago. The third stanza only popped into my head last week. The original impetus comes from a quote from His Holiness the Dalai Lama -- We are all here on this planet as tourists.
Wouldn't
it be funny
If the
business end
Of our
journey
Through
life and death
Really
was arranged
Like a
hop on hop off
Tourist
bus for which
One
ticket purchased would
Beget
successive rides
Much
the same way
We
progress from
Dream
to waking state
In serial
fashion with
Each
nap (or lifetime)
Providing
further occasion
To
disembark before
It's
time to move on
But
then again
Death
might resemble
Queueing on line
Or being put
on hold
By
customer service
For
what seems
Like an
eternity
And no
less frustrating
If it
turns out we’re unable
To secure a seat
For the
next bus ride
Each day awaking reincarnate
Each day a lifetime unto itself
Wild and precious but far from singular
We journey across all our lifetimes
Carrying the carapace of karma
Along on our backs
Each day a lifetime unto itself
Wild and precious but far from singular
We journey across all our lifetimes
Carrying the carapace of karma
Along on our backs
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