Arrival Poem by Susmit Panda

I pray to you, my - my Death!
I pray with earnest breath -
Though it's just a poor, verbal prayer,
Behind it there's no great toil or care,
Proceeding not from soul, but the heart of whim,
Yet, listen to my hymn!

Sure, you shall appear, my Death,
To dewheel my frail breath;
My hymn's not against the divine truth,
I haven't gleaned such greed in my youth;
Yet I've seen you in God's great attire,
So, my prayer I now respire;

Let you untie off your feet, hear my hours,
The anklet of flowers;
I pray, my - my Death, let you bring
Round your feet the anklets of lightening;
One dropping on the day, the other on earth's night
In clamorous, echoing appetite!