The Melancholy of Creation

There are bestial forms of hunger and greed,

Which give solace to stranger folk.

A lock guards the door of an empty vault,

Dwell wherein, these spirits unknown.

Outside, a causeless fire rages,

Upon barren rocks and wayward dust.

There are no paths, which one may take

That lead to this mausoleum, or from it, back.

But this haven appears,

At a time when no cause,

Cares to explain the turmoil within.

The seeker shan’t fade to oblivion here

For find peace he will, in this unlikely place

And draw he shall, from its empty halls

A flower, beautiful

And to mortals, unknown

And then the haven will fade, to return

On yet another dreamy night,

When the bold one ventures the flames again.

So it is that despite dark and dreary times,

We live on, in a fragrant world.
-Shashank Rao