Will Anyone Remain

Will the galaxy remain
after death?
 
The morning’s blue Aparajita
has withered
at the feet of the Nilkantha,
crumpled like paper.
 
Will any cry remain
in the shapeless air?
 
The bleat of a young goat
blends into the market’s noise,
ears dulled by habit.
 
The day will come
to break the wall of obstacles.
 
From the city truck
white smoke billows,
mosquito eggs quiver.
 
What does it matter
if ants are slaughtered
under careless feet?
 
Street dogs cry—
stones are thrown,
civilization taught
in every word.
 
The earth’s familiar climate
fits human comfort;
with smiles and pleasures
we forget flesh and blood.
 
In the world,
age grows;
then comes the limp life,
gas, acidity, heartburn,
high blood pressure, diabetes.
 
No one ever told me
to bear the pain
of another kind—
immortality’s taste
burns away daily.
 
As easily as nature
was returned to nothing,
so too will disobedient fates
arrive at the doorstep,
taking us to the land of ants,
to unspeakable smallness.
 
Dreams will be stitched,
and then—
will anyone remain in space,
in the galaxy,
unchanging, undying?
 
Can one be so certain
in such neglect?
Time awakens,
detached, immortal.