Let us open the ground and bury seeds,
I will open a hole, bury waters,
of white, summoned by pleasurable deeds.
The coming or going has its jitters.
One room receives life in sorrowful tears
This room receives life with pure tears of joy.
Music plays here but its notes are of fears
The music in here is a girl or boy – Ruddapoet
The groove of life where creation is made.
The clot of blood and thumping heart begins.
Life within life woven as one none to fade
Only to nourish till life bursts with grins.
The groove of death where creation is held.
Not of bound chains but breadth ceased and held still.
Ticking of time and its potency geld
And lay lump while decay perch on the sill.
The womb and tomb are our come and go
One is a holiday, one gets busy.
One extends the hand of the Winter’s snow
Both celebrations would cost you a fee.
The cord the breathes life is the hangman’s tie
Death is birth,the birth of death in reverse
The eyes of both beds look up to same sky
To the last welcome to go home in a hearse. Leon