| Tuesday, 06 October 2026 | Print
The World is but a Sketch on Water
This world is but a sketch upon the tide,
A deep and cunning, fleeting lie.
Life—just a moment that arrived,
A single breath, and then passed by.
No faith in roses, nor the tulip’s grace,
No pact or promise holds its place.
The final home for every human face
Is but the earth’s dark, chill embrace.
Life is nothing, all is naught,
This is the one truth we are taught.
The harvest of our fleeting days—
A breath of air, a dusty haze.
We came, and like the wind, we passed away—
So ends the play.
Our names, too, like that script upon the deep,
Are shattered, laid to sleep.
Whoever leaned on thrones of golden gleam,
In arrogant esteem,
At last received a fistful of cold clay
In this cold breast of earth, where all must stay.
Life’s cup holds but two or three small sips
For your lips and my lips.
Like dust that rises briefly in the light,
And vanishes from sight.
This is the final story they all tell:
No start remains, no trace, no mark, no spell.
Life is nothing, all is naught…
This is the truth, and this is all that’s caught.
Copyright@Mohammed Ghanemi
Posted 11:00 pm | Tuesday, 06 October 2026
globalpoetandpoetry.com | Faruk Ahmed Roni
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