Time Enough

The end of the road…

the end of life…

the end of the path…

looking back at the steps

I’ve taken…

hard decisions,

fruitions of actions, 

the unfolded patterns

transparent

like a clear overlay on a map

showing a journey through time.

The old men in India dwell

on the banks of the Ganges

doing exactly this.

Most of the big decisions 

were the right ones,

though I seldom saw that at the time.

The end of a life is like

the end of a chapter;

the pages keep turning.

Since you don’t know 

where you came from,

you have no idea 

where you’re going.

As long as there’s a crowd,

you think you’re going somewhere,

always back, in the end,

at square one.

If you know where you are,

how can you be lost?

Please be kind to your

fellow passengers.