Hardik Vaidya

(26 Dec 1969, yet to kick the bucket. / Mahuva, Gujarat, India.)

Death


Death, what are you?
Brain dead? Cold heart? Senseless?
I have known you, I have felt your breath.
Your cold kiss on my parched lips has left me asphyxiated.
Blue is the color of your soul, white the colour of your face
Yellow the color of your character, you live in the living till they tire of you.
They you cast them off and they die.
How diabolical? Ruthless, and yet so unimaginative your ways.
Not an iota of change, the same rhythm, the same sway, the same style
The same collection be it autumn, spring, winter or summer
The same cat, the same walk, the same audience, the same prey
You don't change your hair dye, you don't change your hair style
You don't change your make up, you don't change your lingerie
Yet you remain loveable, adorable, ever hypnotising
I have seen beyond your clothes, beyond your perfume
Beyond the bounce of your bewitching hair
Beyond the flash of your mascara, beyond the depth of your enticing cleavage
Beyond the meet of your lips, beyond the pearls of your eyes,
I have found the imposter in you.
The wild diva of courage is what it takes to live a moment of eternity
There is no you, there is no cast off, there is no abandonment, there is only a leap
A leap into a blossom of bliss, the vermillion of unison, unison of soul.
One moment of vermillion red and death you are dead.

Submitted: Monday, January 21, 2013

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