A Grain of Sand: Poetry


Every book is a map to the very stars; 
We make and unmake creation 
by naming a grain of sand
 
Our existence remains in a bubble,
a pebble with gravity
whose presence is minute
 
We came from the shards
of dying light that sparked life 
in the inanimate

So have a care for where you tread
for Knowledge renders
the ground solid no more:

And somewhere Baba Yaga cackles
and Kali brandishes her scythe;
The Harvest is nearly over
and so few days remain.

 

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