Its all about getting back home

As the breath leaves, it rushes to get back home.
The new born is already in its path to get back,
At the altar of death, beyond which it belongs.
The dawn is counting its moments,
To reclaim itself in the dusk,
The creation eager to be back in the quietude
In the lap of Goddess Night.
Its all about getting back home.

Meadows feel the bliss,
Listening to the thunder.
For impending is the shower of union,
To make all feel at rest.
The tired eyes look forward to sleep.
Joy for the spirit,
Health for the body.
Its all about getting back home.

Hidden with all the glitter and never-ending flux
Is the constant ardor and grief,
Whispered faintly in the longing sob of the gray dove,
The leafless tree standing in penance,
For the onset of the spring,
The gushing Ganges flowing onto the sea,
The westerly wind rushing to his beloved,
The fragrance of the incense at the God's altar,
Eagerly diffusing into the limitless expanse of life.
Its all about getting back home.

The essence of life, they ask.
Isn't it the only essence?
Is it the need of bliss,
Or an eternal permanence
Or a sanctuary of solitude?
All what is craved after
Its all about getting back home.


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