Bowl Of Light

Bowl of Light

The old man sat by the window pane,

Watching the world wake up again.

No grand estate, no gilded dome,

Just a simple cottage he called home.

His hands, gnarled and worn by years,

Had known both laughter and bitter tears.

But in their grasp, a solace deep,

A **bowl of light** he loved to keep.

Not glass, nor crystal, finely wrought,

No precious metal, dearly bought.

It was a simple, wooden thing,

A vessel meant for gathering.

Carved by a hand long turned to dust,

A humble piece, imbued with trust.

And in its hollowed, gentle form,

He found a shelter from the storm.

For in that bowl, no jewels did gleam,

No coins that whispered of a dream

Of endless wealth or fleeting fame,

Just memories, whispering his name.

A flicker first, a youthful spark,

Of learning wonders in the dark

Of whispered tales and lullabies,

Reflected in his aging eyes.

He saw the **light** of morning's dew,

Upon the petals, fresh and new,

The gleam of sun on river stone,

A world where beauty stood alone.

He saw the glint of childish glee,

As laughter danced, wild and free,

And felt the warmth of a mother's hand,

A love he’d always understand.

Then came the **light** of budding love,

A gentle touch, a whispered "dove."

The shared glances, soft and low,

A radiant, tender, inner glow.

The joy of building, brick by brick,

A future solid, strong, and quick.

The years unfolding, soft and slow,

A tapestry where bright threads go.

He saw the **light** of children's eyes,

Reflecting back the clear blue skies.

Their questions eager, minds aglow,

The seeds of wisdom he would sow.

The triumphs small, the lessons learned,

The patient turning, gently turned,

To guide their steps on paths unseen,

A vibrant, ever-verdant scene.

But life, a fickle, changing tide,

Brought shadows where the **light** had vied.

The loss of loved ones, sharp and deep,

A sorrow that the soul would keep.

The long, dark nights, the silent plea,

For comfort he could barely see.

Yet even then, a faint, soft gleam,

Survived within his waking dream.

For in that bowl, through all the pain,

A resilient **light** would still remain.

The kindness shown, the helping hand,

A beacon in a troubled land.

The quiet strength that sees you through,

The promise of a morning new.

The simple fact of being here,

Dispelling every rising fear.

He held the bowl, a silent prayer,

A testament to what was fair,

What truly mattered, in the end,

A faithful, ever-present friend.

Not worldly goods, nor fleeting praise,

But **light** collected through his days.

The love received, the love he gave,

A shimmering, internal wave.

The sun dipped low, a golden hue,

And painted skies of azure blue.

The room grew dim, the shadows crept,

But in his heart, a promise kept.

For in that **bowl of light** so pure,

He found a hope that would endure.

A legacy of simple grace,

Reflected on his peaceful face.

And as he closed his weary eyes,

Beneath the vast and starry skies,

The **light** within him did not fade,

But into gentle sleep he made

His passage, peaceful and serene,

A life well-lived, a vibrant scene,

Held safe within that wooden bowl,

The essence of his gentle soul.

Summary:

This poem, "Bowl of Light," tells the story of an old man who finds profound solace and meaning not in material wealth, but in a simple, wooden bowl. This bowl, for him, is a metaphorical vessel holding the collected "light" of his life's memories and experiences. He reminisces on moments of youth, love, family, and the beauty of nature, each represented as a form of light. Even through times of loss and sorrow, the bowl holds the resilient light of kindness, inner strength, and enduring hope. Ultimately, the poem suggests that true richness lies in these intangible treasures—the love given and received, and the simple grace of a life fully lived—which continue to shine brightly within him, even as his life draws to a peaceful close.