life...

O life, thou art a thread of silken lace, That sways and breaks beneath the breath of time, A fleeting echo in a boundless chime, A tear that slips from fate’s unmoving face. We strive for crowns, for glory's brief embrace, Yet dust shall claim both sinner and the prime; The rose must wilt, the mountain cease to climb, And all shall fade without a resting place. What meaning lies in moments that decay? Is death an end—or but a veiled gate? Must we despair or trust the unseen way? Each joy we hold is lent, not sealed by fate, Yet in such loss, love learns to gently stay The soul grows vast when it accepts life’s weight. Rajeev