Everything is always preparing to die;
Maybe life is just a fancy dress rehearsal-
Gears meshing; wings unfolding for the launch:
Lights flash, buzzers announce, the souls dispersal.
We die without warning; or like sheep to slaughter;
But we put away reminders of our fate-
No singular instant is specially reserved
For that very last breath you will someday take.
On the same exact day, hour, minute, second;
Others too will take the long drawn breath-
In other continents, countries and latitudes:
Someone shares even your moment of death.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem