There is no smoke without a fire
No shocks without a live wire,
Passion is a madness pure, a delirium
Whatever be the object of your desire,

For, the holy man, ‘tis He beyond the skies
The One, they say, beyond the seventh Heaven, lies,
The One, that no one has ever set eyes upon
Despite Moses and, perhaps, several other tries,

Or, the mere mortal, earthy, ones like you and I
The grounded ones, without wings, unable to fly,
Our humdrum, routine lives, in a nothingness wrapped
Waiting to live and yes, of course, also waiting to die.

Is this all there is to lives, great and small, tell me
Is this what you mean, when you speak of Destiny,
Is this the acrid smoke of the fire we speak of
Is this the enigma of Desire, the mirage called Reality.

Is it the machinations of a mind gone berserk
Nothing real, nothing unreal, all a funny quirk,
No wonder then that opposites, seemingly, attract
Like white and black, young and old, think Wise and Crack,

Think, not wisecrack.

(The author is a prolific poet who has over 30 poetry books to his credit. He can be reached at ashoksawhny06@gmail.com/ www.ashoksawhny.com)