handful of rice

We are a handful of rice 

In a universe of grain 

Does a grain of rice 

Have the right to say

don't take me 

Away from my brother grain 

Or

Dont take my baby away? 

What are we in the end 

"This quintessence of dust"

Not even rice

Which has utility

But sand maybe 

A fistful of sand 

In a universe of dust 

And floating along 

As we are 

What does our grief matter? 

All that will be will be

We can only do our little part 

with our little scope of vision 

Pray we hurt as few as possible.

Pray

Dust prays to stone? 

Or life matter appeals to the infinity - the body but a cloak 

To be worn and discarded?

Our aathma 

Seeking the paramathma

Then what does anything matter?

If we are born to die 

Then why are we born 

Every second we are alive 

We inch closer to our death 

Which we can approach 

Morosely or in glee

You who dispersed  me 

with your breath

Would you want me back

Breathe in 

And out 

Shanthi shanthi shanthi he

In this small space of time and matter that I have 

Let me be kind

Not gossip

Not over think

Just be