Necropolis

1bisI travelled a long way from behind the snowy alps

To the portals of Death in Milano

His Necropolis

Where poets sang their final songs

Where sculptors carved their final words

Where martyrs shed their last drops of blood

Where Politicians gave their last great speeches

Where everyone else gave their corpse, ashes and bones

Here is also where

Art gave beauty to Death

And Death gave Art power.

Art, beauty, Death and power

They meet in the consciousness

They are in part, consciousness

Inside and outside

 Outside

They are symbols and form,

Frozen in time, encrypted as formations,

Encoded structures that one can reveal

Many things that ignorance concealed,

Messages that Death clearly indicated

Of its Nature and ways,

Which no man except the Perfected One,

Can over ride.

 

Hear, hear! Come and see, don’t miss the show!

Here, now, Death is the poet, the singer,

The artist, the actor and the story teller,

The author, the musician and the preacher.

Usually,

When life is sweet, Death is bitter,

When life is painful, death a relief,

Take both together and you have a cycle,

Transcend both and be free,

Life is indeed Death disguised.

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