Veteran Poet - 1,108 Points (7TH OCTOBER 1951 / Trissur, Kerala State, India.)


The wooden box lay inwait,
For the body to be carried,
To the graveyard where
Many rests in peace,
But unloved is the coffin
Which does the job made out
For it to carry out for
The last rites fro humans
To climb to the upper world.

A small suprise escapes us,
On sight of a coffin, made
With so much care, but none
Really wishes to rest inside,
Unless we are stiff and lifeless,
Ready to be eaten by the worms
Of the earth, leaving our strong
Remains inside the coffin,
Which but does't know
What to do with them.

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Rudyard Kipling


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Poem Submitted: Monday, October 8, 2007

Poem Edited: Thursday, April 14, 2011

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