Man Alone Mourns Death Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

As drops and trickles from the face of sea
Evaporate, rise pregnant clouds to be,
To get reborn as rain, be drops again—
A few of them falling ‘pon the same sea,
Some in vales, some on hilltops, and to drain
Down as rivers, streams, rivulets to be,
And some getting smothered by hungry dust,
A moment's life on earth— soon as born, bust!

A bird's dropping drops amid dust on earth,
And a seed therein begins to give birth,
Sprouting soon to become a young sapling,
In time to be a plant, tree of wide girth,
Towering above all, tall and sprawling,
In springs to sing life songs, fructifying
And bearing a ripe seed in a long chain,
O happy to sprout time and time again.

And a soul traces much the same voyage,
Endless from birth to birth, and death to death,
And moving on to take a fresh new breath,
To evolve and purer be of image;
Quiet does a rain drop evaporate,
Quiet does Nature newer things create,
Human life cries for first breath, as for death,
Wonder why man alone seems to lose faith!
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Musings | 11.02.11 |