Light plays on rooftops, life plays below
A desperate race for an ending unknown.
Light runs unfettered, haloing clouds,
An immortal childhood since the ages of old.
Life thinks too little, too little too loud
Watches light who says all without a sound
Over Himalayan snow-tops and city grime,
Caressing the children, white, red, brown.
And life breeds philosophers, artists who try
To capture the colors and spirits of light.
But rules and paints and wise words, much loved
Can never hold light from its soaring heights,
Can never, shall never, pin light down to life.
