B R Sharan Kumar

  Ashes and Echoes   In mother’s womb, we all arrive— No gold, no gems, no wealth to thrive. Though kings may reign with treasures grand, They leave it all with lifeless hands.   When death arrives, both rich and poor Must pass the same unguarded door. No coin, no note, no trusted friend Can follow where the journey ends.   The body burns, the ashes fall, And silence wraps around it all. What’s left behind, the world will claim— Another’s hands, another name.   It may be spent, it may be lost, The dead can’t question what it cost. But charity, when done with grace, Outlives the man—it holds its place.   A deed well done, a gift well given, Is wealth that walks the path to heaven. For better we share while we are here, Than leave it to those we never held dear.  

  The Quiet Company   I am not alone. Breath walks beside me, an old friend who knows when to hurry, when to slow, when to hush so I may listen to the quiet voice within. My heartbeat keeps me close, a drum in my chest that remembers every fear, every hope, each secret I’ve sworn to bury, each dream I’ve dared to hold. It keeps time for my wandering mind, calls me home when I drift. And even my loneliness stays, a quiet, faithful companion who settles in the corner of the room, never asking much, never leaving. It reminds me I am here, teaches me the art of listening to the hush between words, the vastness behind closed eyes. I am not alone. The wind speaks to me in sighs, The dark wraps me gently, The morning light breaks for me. I am my own witness, my own shelter, and somewhere in the silence I find company enough for this long and human road.