Being in the womb of non-being

Aha that solitude's brace
with full grace
on one's hassled self!

The fragrance of silence

away from the mind's violence,

Smell it,

Enjoy to the last bit,

But never forget 

the scent of humanity,

It has its own beauty,

The sweet-sour smell of attrition

of life against testing odds,

Of pleasure, pain, sighs, moan,

The soft brace of a flower

and the divine shower

of smiles and tears 

also bears

the stamp of the unwritten laws,

Nothing'd exist without humane flaws,

The heavenly bliss

and peaceful kiss

prevailing in the vales

won't have any meaning without

the strife and humanity's travails,

Silent whispers in a forest

and the noisy outpours in a bazaar

share deep roots,

Life is impregnated in deep chambers

of silence and solitude

and the mystical beatitude

somewhere far away,

It's then let loose

to seek a higher meaning

in the congested, overbrimming,

cacophonic, struggling bazaar,

Life comes out of a deep cave

to brave 

all that blood, sweat, smile,

tears, love, guile

and hate

that berate

we humans,

We have to pass the test

and be our best

in the crowd

and then wear the shroud

of the eternal sleep

as undisturbed silence motherly creep

to take us deep 

again into the silent womb.