Socrates had said,
Either death is an annihilation
And we are left with no consciousness,
Or it is a change, a migration
Of soul, from this place to another.
Who can know - but what is this life
If not a spark struck by a hand
We cannot spot.
For an instant or two we glow
Like a match stick
Struck by an invisible force
We flash through the strip
And give some light
And so ephemeral it is.
But that hand is kind,
Graciously divine,
Through some incomprehensible trick
Transport those sparks
Into a shining star
Over the skies
For all to see.
And the travelers like you and me,
When it is dark,
Find their path
By these stars
of Socrates and Faraz.