Birth to Wreath
A soul awakened at the dawn.
Not flesh alone, nor time’s decree,
But threads of light, the One we seek.
In womb’s embrace, the code is laid,
By genes and stars, by debts we’re made.
The world assigns, but we must learn—
The soul must struggle, twist, and turn.
A child of culture, name, and creed,
We walk the path that others lead.
Yet deep within, a question stirs—
What is the self the heart prefers?
The mind is shaped by joy and fear,
By wounds unseen, by truth unclear.
The ego builds, the heart is torn,
As love and loss become our scorn.
Yet love still blooms, a sacred flame,
In every touch, in every name.
It guides, it burns, it heals, it binds—
The eternal thread through fleeting minds.
Through labor’s sweat, we pay our toll,
The world demands, but steals the soul.
Ambition calls with hollow cries,
While fleeting joys fade into lies.
Still, the spirit seeks to find
A deeper truth that calms the mind.
Through karma’s wheel, through dharma’s call,
We seek the light beyond it all.
The flesh decays, the clock runs dry,
But in the heart, no end, no lie.
For from the cross to sacred flame,
We rise, and none shall stay the same.
And when the final breath does cease,
The soul is freed, the mind in peace.
A wreath is laid, a life once known,
But in the truth, we are not alone.
For love is vast, and time is thin—
The circle turns, the soul begins.
From birth to wreath, the path is clear—
The journey ends, yet still we’re near.
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