Life Lives Betwixt Two Deaths Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

A story this of how Life proposes,
But Death is it that always disposes.
A king once dreamt a pre-dawn weird dream—
A forewarning— Death lives a life so rife,
‘By setting sun I'll come and take thine life';
Alas, dawn's dreams turn up true, good or grim.

Shattered, he delved deep on how to beat death,
With not a clue, he summoned for counsel:
‘Run away far from here, far as ye can,
‘Take fastest of a flying stallion,
‘So far and fast that Death can't ever catch,
‘Beat today's sun, let nothing overtake.'

Assuaged the king thanked him, of wisdom rife.
What strange things men would not do death to flout!
Not knowing, death a blessing is to life,
A change of new garment for one worn out,
And strange, man turns his face from a dear friend,
King or commoner, death is a strange land.

Taking rapid-as-wind a horse he left,
Racing ahead— fatigue, hunger nor thirst,
Yon of his kingdom's end, beyond thick woods,
Wet with dripping sweat, horse foaming in mouth,
The sun about to but not yet all set,
Would he be able to defeat his death?

Of course, triumphant, he reined in his horse
Under a huge banyan tree, catching breath,
Hoping for rest for him and his tired horse,
With a grateful hand he patted its back,
Bravo my boy, ah, you've beaten them both—
Death and Time—and more to point, saved my life.

For none I care now, me the conqueror,
Shaken in faith let them serve under me.
‘Not yet', he felt a heavy hand on back,
‘Not shaken in faith, worried sure I was—
‘If you'd or not reach ere the day dies out',
Death said, ‘your horse did come to my rescue'.

It brought you here to die your destined death.
This early dawn I was rather worried,
Concerned, if you could reach for your last breath,
Reason it was why I came to your dream.
Death does not come to man when time is right,
Man ‘tis that comes, drawn by destiny's fright.

A new dawn always dawns like a fresh spring,
Old age and death pre-writ are by Fate's pen,
Let man do his needless manoeuvring—
An escapade would it be all in vain.
No one has, none ever would beat this game,
Time and Death triumph over all the same.

And this twain from all born draws equal faith,
If church bells toll, ask not for whom and why,
They toll for everyone, now or near nigh,
Faith in life limps devoid of faith in death;
Pray think, what's Death but a whim of one's mind?
Life lives betwixt two deaths: before and hind.
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Trying to escape from death is universal instinct. Each stanza is loosely metered in iambic pentameter. ______________________________________________________
Musings | 02.10.12 |
Topic: life, death