So all must die and I must too
not at peace in my own bed
but perhaps in an ICU
poked and prodded felt and left
by doctors who'll know more of me
than I could ever hope to see.
While I lie there with laboured breath
through tubes that smell all sanitised
and listen to the myriad beeps
that crowd the space above my head
perhaps the few who've graced my life
will stay to watch me end my strife.
If you are there among those few
I wish that you will let me be
with open eyes as if I see;
for all my life I've lived in blind
of what the world purports to be
revolted by the ways of man
sickened by duplicity.
Then take me to a window where
sweet breezes blow the scents of trees
so I can see with my mind's eye
a sky as blue as it can be
and butterflies so chaste and fair
and dandelions in the air.
Dont leave me where my end must come
unfeted in a doctor's log
where terms of diagnosis fly;
yet none can make me better be.
At a window let me be
or better still outside a door
or even better take me where
the sky is clear above my head
and grass is green beneath my head
a river sings along its way
where crocus grow around the bend.
There I will gladly seek my end.
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Comments about this poem (The End by Famida Basheer )
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