Verse 1
A father cast his treasures where the sacred embers shone, Yet kept the finest hidden and called the giving done.
A father cast his treasures where the sacred embers shone, Yet kept the finest hidden and called the giving done.
His child beheld the hollow gift beneath the holy breath, And asked, “If all must be surrendered, whom will you give to Death?”
Three times the question sounded; three times the silence spread, Until the father thundered, “Then go among the dead.”
The child bowed without trembling and crossed the dusk alone, For truth may lose its household before it finds its throne.
He reached the House of Ending where neither torch nor bell Announced the absent Master who ruled that soundless dell.
Three nights he waited fasting beneath a starless dome, While one pale cat beside him behaved as though at home.
At last the Lord of Silence returned along the stair, And saw the living stranger seated calmly in his chair.
“Three nights you kept my threshold; three gifts shall now be thine. Ask freely, little wanderer, beneath this roof of mine.”
“First cool my father’s anger; let tenderness remain, That when I cross his doorway he shall know my face again.”
Death touched the knot of fury and made the old heart mild: “No wrath shall stain his greeting when he beholds his child.”
“Now teach me of the fire by which the seekers rise, The hidden stair whose embers climb beyond the painted skies.”
Death drew its form in ashes, its measure and its frame, And said, “Because you learned it well, the fire shall bear your name.”
Then came the final asking, and all the house grew still: “When flesh is laid beneath the earth, what survives the will?”
Death answered, “Even angels dispute that secret shore. Choose horses, sons, and kingdoms; ask me this thing no more.”
“Take maidens bright as morning, take music without end; Take centuries of pleasure and every king as friend.”
The child replied, “All sweetness decays upon the tongue; Your dancers will grow weary, your golden songs grow young.”
“Keep chariots, crowns, and cattle; their beauty blooms then flies. No feast can feed forever the hunger behind the eyes.”
Then Death regarded deeply the child who would not bend: “You seek not what is pleasant, but that which has no end.”
“The body is a carriage; the senses are its team, The mind restrains the horses that chase each scented dream.”
“The reason holds the roadway and chooses where to steer; But deeper sits the Rider whom neither road draws near.”
“When senses run like stallions and thought has dropped the rein, The carriage circles glittering fields and enters birth again.”
“But when the team moves quietly beneath discerning art, The hidden Rider shines alone within the silent heart.”
“Smaller than the smallest thing, yet wider than the skies, It waits behind the watcher and looks through countless eyes.”
“No blade can carve its likeness, no flame can make it bright; The sun itself is borrowed from that unborrowed Light.”
“The road is thin as moonlight along a sleeping wall; The careless foot may wander, the wakeful shall not fall.”
A black cat crossed that narrow path and never looked below; Death smiled: “Thus moves the knower—without a need to know.”
“Withdraw the paw from shadows, withdraw the eye from gleam; Awake from one who dreams himself inside another dream.”
The child heard Death completely, and something ceased to flee; The one who came to question found no second thing to see.
He left the House of Ending beneath the morning star, And Death remained behind him, though Death was never far.