Come To Inspire, O Death Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

Come O Death, right time's no later but soon,
Thine fault so oft I think is waiting long,
Come at appointed time, thou art a boon,
To scorn thee is: pain of life to prolong;
O come, carry out thine thankless duty,
Thou art benign, thine mission's mystery.

Men mortal, made are of shorter a breath,
His life's milestones made in the path of death,
Of all that should in time end, I believe,
Thou O Death hardly art monstrous devil
So often deemed, soul ‘tis that opts to leave,
Spirit that hath its own will lives on still.

O Death, oft deemed as an unresolved riddle,
Whilst life lives on long, firm in journey's saddle
To pursue evolution's unmixed struggle,
To die ere time a sin is so evil,
But when ye come, I know well not to haggle,
Not to die on due time is greater ill.

Scoring a goal but once is no life's aim,
But to strive on till death declares the lull,
To keep the ball in play until the whistle,
And still, death ends the round, never the game;
And keep in mind, there's always extra time,
So keep your raw grit alive for game's grime.

Life that rises in death sets, sun as sets,
And then arises for the next voyage,
Death's like penning life's penultimate page,
Like leaping unto dark that frightful gets,
Warding of winter a migrating bird,
That knows not what should be its life's last word.

But when ye come at last, help me O Death,
With my baggage of babble, my pen's crimes,
Li'le whispers, half truths, though writ in good faith,
Help me polish it nigh in newer climes;
So, let me die pen and paper in hand,
Till then come to inspire O Death, my friend.
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Musings | 02.11.11 |