Treasure Island

Suzette Richards

(Cape Town, SOUTH AFRICA)

When the Final Bell Tolls


Where once the vainglorious hunter held sway,
is now frequented by the frail of mind and body.
I resolve to repent and hold temptations at bay,
but anew succumb to Bacchus' nightly toddy.

I might as well feast at cornucopias immeasurable.
Don't concern myself ‘bout the woes of tomorrow
and give over to love of all things pleasurable.
For when the final bell tolls, it heralds much sorrow.

Fresh to this world, we learn as a child all things new.
As an adult, we pass on these life lessons learned.
Chasing windmills of your mind, you should askew,
as death sneaks up and gives us the rest earned.

In truth, by choice, I would neither have been born;
nor tarry on this mortal coil a minute longer.
Never can we twice step into the same stream lorn:
Steeped in wisdom imparted by those stronger.

With promises, we cannot survive the daily struggle.
Best to grasp current opportunities with both hands.
God has ordained our destiny - let us time juggle
our allotted secular presence, relinquishing our bands.

Life moves on, without any influence from us
and to live in the Now, is the only recourse.
Love and Joy are our birthright - no need to cuss
or writhe in guilt and reproach others in discourse.

When the winds of change blow into your life,
go with the flow; do not kick against the thorn.
This place we call ‘World', is but an illusion of strife
and we rule until the final day, when we are shorn.

Inevitably, when the final curtain call is made,
the secrets that we now argue over and debate,
will be made clear and astound us; bring a tirade.
Settle now to live a life of renown and be first rate.

Pious or not, of the same cup of Life we have supped -
some have lingered longer, void of any concern.
An innate desire for infinity, despite how life rubbed -
eyeing the Finishing Line is only true for the kern.

Submitted: Sunday, July 13, 2014
Edited: Thursday, July 17, 2014

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Topic(s): life

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

GLOSARRY:
Lorn: adj. Desolate, forlorn
Kern/kerne: (historically) Light-armed Irish foot-soldier; peasant; boor.

Inspired by the RUBAIYAT, of Omar Khayyám

BASED ON THE FIRST 18 STANZAS out of the between 200 - 600 stanzas attributed to Omar Khayyám, depending on the source.]

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