The School of the Soul

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In the quiet chamber where shadows dwell,

The soul’s silent school begins its spell;

Lessons carved in breath and beat,

Hints of eternity in each brief heartbeat.


O fragile body, school of the soul,

Where life learns briefly how to breathe,

All beauty borrowed from the waiting earth

Returns as dust beneath the trees.


The painted brow and carefully combed hair

Glow like flowers at the break of dawn,

Yet beauty, like mist before the sun,

Fades softly as the day moves on.


The head once lifted with dreams of conquest,

Like a flag upon a restless hill,

Lies silent now, a nameless skull-

Its pride erased, its voice grown still.


The king who ruled like a roaring lion,

The beggar frail as a fallen leaf,

Meet at last like merging rivers,

No crown remains, no sign of grief.


No caste endures, no wealth speaks louder,

Scriptures fall silent before the flame;

Death moves through all like impartial fire,

Calling every life by the same name.


So learn, O soul, while breath is near,

While the inward lamp still softly burns,

For life can never truly own

Gold, power, or the flesh it wears.


What lasts beyond the body’s fall

Is wisdom earned and truth held fast-

The only lesson carried forward

When mortal hours have slipped to past.

                                                                Jayankarthika



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