A Nice Tragic End Poem by Mehta Hasmukh Amathaal

who knows when it will end?
who will be by the side, foe or friend?
what are we trying to achieve?
what do we really believe?

it has to and will come
with folded hands to welcome
no choice but painful departure
that is how one can see the future

so silently taken away without any warning
no time predicted in morning or evening
the night might have matched with fear
how much pain and agony at the last to bear?

You go into sleep without waiting
Only bad memeory may start eating
Your conscience and still rough attitude
It had been unbearable with magnitude

You might have left for heavenlly abode
Still it may hound people’s mind with load
It is heaved with sigh and relief
It was certainly right thinking with balief

No one may shed a single tear
All will have black cloths to wear
That may be silent respect for dead
The hatred and disliking is clearly read

The body is lowered in to its last refuge
It is not contained in vast place or huge
It may be limited to size and length
Nothing may remain hre like power or strength

It may take over you without any notice
It is in our hand to make it nice
The end can be made peaceful
If whole life has remained unremorseful

Nothing may change even after burial
We may go on doing same with denial
Not a word about faith or good living
All dependant on falsehood and misbeliving