This is really more killing
And cancerous than knowing
That the way is coming full circle:
The thought that our time is up
And the world is much better off
Sans a self is like a renunciation:

The cosmos and the cares
The bonds and the belongings
The bondages and the liberties
The faiths and the failings
All those sweats and tears
The affluence and emptiness
The lights and darkness
The shelters and shades
The misgivings and misfortunes
The guts and egos
All get incorporated in it.

This renunciation looms large
And larger all over, making things
Look like the aftermath of death.
It is a pall suspended feather-like
Right over the faces of things,
Blurring the most beautiful
Into blotted portraits.

When eyes go haplessly groping
Deeper in the finest of lights,
Who the Heaven is able to find
The numb moves of death around?

‘That it doesn’t make any difference’
Doesn’t make it unimportant either.
Death is important for all the ones
Who see that their ways aren’t that longer.

A. Jayaprakash Jayaprakash Panicker

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/it-s-all-over-not-again/