I never quite understand
The climax of life.
I imagine sometimes,
How does it feel to die?
I think death is a giant Bubble maker
It sucks the life out and makes bubbles from it
Bubbles of different colors
The color of the bubble
is the color of our soul
Red, blue, green,
Black, white, grey
Multi-coloured and colorless.
Black the vicious, white the purest
The soul is entrapped in it
And we float in the void
Multiple bubbles
For millions of years
We don't dash against each other
We are just afloat, asleep
And when we are ready
The bubble breaks
And we slid into another bubble: the womb
Again floating for nine months
And when we are re-born
The color of our bubble
Assumes our character.
And once again the cycle starts
Only to end in a bubble
And To begin again.
Author: Lavanya Nukavarapu
