So little we know
So much we pretend

After a moment’s impulse-
We conclude a total mass-

In a definite pattern; in a missal
Lying as a dry barren land,
withholding pangs or a hurtful dust
Smoking the big blossom heart.

It’s nothing to worry about.
So terrible- death like blow.
Nothing to boast of riches
once cared the extreme glow.

so much gathered.
so much dispersed.

Moushumi moushumi

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/riches-wretches/