SHRINE

Why the vision
Looks straight
From the closed eyes
Of the grave

It does breath
The glorious past
In leap of present
To outword steps

In toss of
Night and day
Only the dead lives
At each instance demise

In glory, I erect
Thy holy shrine.
What else is here
For any permanence

Yes, the vision
Looks straight
From an open eyes
Of the lively grave