Birthday...A Day Towards Death! Poem by Tapashya Das Sinha

A DAY TOWARDS DEATH.
Celebrating one’s birthday,
Is the day indeed,
Methinks,
Celebrating a step ahead,
Towards one’s own death way…
To every birthday,
I frail, I fear for the while,
Nevertheless,
I had been celebrating
Its merriness, it’s gay,
Since I were a child…
Confused I am for,
Why ‘the souls of knowledge’
Celebrate their birth,
Is art they unaware of forsooth,
Since the conscience says,
Each day of birth a station,
We halt,
Have refreshments,
Discarding past,
Proceed further towards,
Final destination
In darkness of mortality…
Fretted candles over cakes glow,
While,
Impatient the lips more,
To shower its breadth over to blow…
Sometimes,
This candle ceremony recalls,
A day shall be the same,
When my owns oculus
Will shed its drops in my call…
We these candles,
Lit up by one in a while,
Where,
The lips of time,
Blow thy ashes away a mile…
I chuckle,
Chuffed to glee the moment I took birth,
In lap of earth,
Besides awakes my soul,
A day for me is kept,
On the pedestal of my life,
When again,
I have to take rest,
In the same warmth of mother earth…
Closed,
Will my lids,
Freeze,
Will my breadth,
Nevertheless,
Mine soul could never realize,
The journey of death…
My gallivant thoughts,
Explained me the course,
Between heaven and hell,
However, innocent the soul is,
Moves silently across its nut’s shell…
The day of birth
We celebrate,
Evaluate yet age,
Nevertheless of evaluating,
The days we left for
Walking into mortal cage…
I could have ardent,
Wearing neo clothes
With glee and joy,
While,
My conscience in its coy,
States me;
“Thee a molded toy,
Thee thyself an attire of thine soul.”,
Hence,
Methinks of it useless
To wrap the molded Old,
While,
My own soul’s wrapper is losing,
Its strength to behold…
I blow my breadth
In balloons chest,
Unaware I was for,
The syringe of these birthdays
Fetching my breadth
To its own crest,
Digging house of coffin for my rest…
Impatiently mesmerized I was,
To intake the music,
The rhyme of birthday song,
However today,
Impatiently vexed I am,
To behold the rhythm of my death,
Singing in applauses…
Birthday is the day,
Recalls the day we breadth,
Besides,
Birthday is the day too,
Calls aloud its inevitable death…
Life is dismal,
Play hard,
Discarding away the vex apart…
Therefore,
Nevertheless celebrating birthday,
Smile to every ample moment of breathing,
When the Death itself would speak aloud;
“Celebrate thy glee of life
To the elevated heights of infinity,
Because I am still
Far apart…”