Death.. Poem by Nabashis Dev Misra

Too cowardly to die on her own
She let them pick her apart
Limb by limb,
Each anesthetized.
Nothing is sexier than death...
It has that covert charm
Of underwater Mollusca: deadly still,
Out of the blue spontaneous.
And then there is the sly sensuality
Of sickly brows, beads of sweat glistening
On a burning forehead,
Stray strands of hospital hair
Plastered to it.
They say death is cruel.
Yet it is life that nurtures
A penchant for youth, everlasting
Vitality,
An unfortunate habit of staring at toilet mirrors
Scared of one's body
No longer familiar as a cradle song.
Do not look at me! She says.
Haven't I become too blase for late night parties,
Cocktail bars?
Maybe roses need thorns...
Perfection is a myth.
She learnt to relish it all:
The illness- strangely addictive,
Almost narcotic,
Spreading through medicated veins,
The rugged rims of disposable pillows
Faintly ticklish on earlobes,
The breezy robe brushing against
Desensitized skin,
Nipples hard as frozen peas,
The slow shivers, the sudden fullness
Of edema,
The angry red of broken ribs, leftover splinters,
The dumb eyes...
Relax, baby, let go...
Breathe in, out,
Out, out, out,
Until death becomes you...