Permission to Live By Sahand Rabbani The planet spins despite our sins, And we dwell endlessly on matters So trite and void of significance. A pebble carefully cast Has ne'er a river flooded. If sinners are meant to reside Where an oil drill's tip may coincide, Then man is always sinking With every ticking minute, For requisite to ascend the infinite-- It is said--is to live the purest repertoire:         Things done, things thought,         Things imagined, things wrought, That whoever should spurn Those reasons to burn, Never truly did live to ever die, And in not having died For not having lived Cannot ascend Whence space-time will bend: Beatific glory concealed by a curtain Can never be known for certain. To die, one must have lived; To live, one must have sinned, For sin has been defined As all those things confined To what evolution has refined. Those who sin, in Hell persist, And those who don't can never exist. Copyright © 2009 Sahand Rabbani All rights reserved.