Life’s fleeting flow,
like water through open fingers,
it goes.
Arrive, depart — a cycle so clean,
transient beauty in a silent dream.
In emptiness,
both start and end,
yet in the middle, illusions often blend.
With nothing we come,
with nothing we part,
yet the dance in between is life’s true art.
Attachments, desires, the clutter we hold,
are but illusions, stories retold.
For in the silent breath between two nothings,
Is the essence of all things.
It’s not in the having,
but in the being,
in the moments of seeing, feeling, and freeing.
In the vast emptiness,
all is one,
no beginning, no ending, no lost, no won.
In the great dream of life,
under the sun,
we come and go, yet remain,
undone.
- mOjolism -
