NEVER FORGET THIS

NEVER FORGET THIS
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Yonder stands a mound of Rock.
Grimly silent stands this Rock, the tomb of a Great One.
Of him, whose beauty was renowned in the world,
Whose sword and victories the world doth dread even now,
Sleeps he in silence now, in simple covering.
No velvet sheet o’er his body, no cushioned bed beneath him,
Sleeps he on ashes and wears he a sheet of mud.
What cares he for praises sung?
What cares he for hatred and foes and envious rivals?
What cares he for the caresses of a loved one?
Call him – he hears thee not!
Awaken him – Nay! – He awakens not!
The Rocks weigh upon him but he never complains,
Nor says, “O, Friend, lift this weight from my heart.”
He is silent, nay, he is silence.
His voice is gone, stilled forever,
The music ends, the refrain lost forever.
And silent stands the Sitar, till the musician come again
But Hark! Thy ears upon the tomb do hear a voice
“Friend, this is the truth of every life
Forget thou all, but never forget this!”