Poems By Arjava

BELLS with tongues of brass

Measure the hours that pass,

In a lofty tower swinging.

Worms beneath the grass

Make skulls like polished glass

(Brief flowers that Time is flinging).

Stars will cool to ash,

Palaces topple and crash—

Time's sword all unions ending....

The Woundless takes no gash :

Vain waves of Maya dash

On sheer cliffs of Truth ascending.