Classic poem of the day
When all the ways the worlds have trod
are gather'd up in Brahm, who goes
homeward to silence, nor with God
the star-pierced night is faint nor throes,
then all this coil shall fall and sleep:
but then, when seven eternities
are lifted from the awaking deep,
shall then the ways be just as these?
— Wavewise the world is driven for aye,
each gulf the old renewing night,
and evermore each crest (they say)
flings dayw......
Member poem of the day
I threw away college
page by page into the bin
but keeping the pages intact
knowing full well some poor
boy at his father’s vendor stall
will probably use them to wrap
his future in them for thirty rupees
per burger and a guesstimated half
a dozen fries.
First published in Mad Swirl
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