Great souls die
and our reality,
bound to them,
takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds,
formed and informed
by their radiance,
fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
of dark, cold caves.
And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly.
Spaces fill
with a kind of soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored,
never to be the same,
whisper to us
They existed.
They existed.
We can be.
Be and be better.
For they existed.
Maya Angelou
This blog post is by Neelima Gupte and Sumathi Rao
and our reality,
bound to them,
takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds,
formed and informed
by their radiance,
fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
of dark, cold caves.
And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly.
Spaces fill
with a kind of soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored,
never to be the same,
whisper to us
They existed.
They existed.
We can be.
Be and be better.
For they existed.
Maya Angelou
This blog post is by Neelima Gupte and Sumathi Rao
