Goddy Nana Mens
Death - The Irony - Poem by Goddy Nana Mens
Slowly, the pages are filling up
Another Chapter is nearing completion
That Hand that writes, writes on
On and on and not a word erase
But my Book is full of pain
Of misery, heartaches and rotting dreams
Yet the Hand writes on
On, on and ever on
Nonchalant to my thousand cusses
Unperturbed by my impotent rage
Pity though the Book I cannot close
Pity more, the Hand I cannot force
It bides its time
And O how slow it is!
But why can't I just own my Life?
After all isn't it but a mere crumb of eternity?
A flimsy moment in the Sea of Time?
Surely my absence would not be felt
Surely the Giver should not mind
So why can't I own my Life?
After all, isn't every Man a dead Man?
Then why can't I die when I want to?
Why does Death ignore my call?
I would die later anyhow
Why tarry now?
Why not take me now?
Why not now?
I search the portal
That leads out of here
And I would give my all
To the one to take me there
But till my search prove any less futile
And I begin to walk that mile,
Only one question will linger in me
If every Man is a dead Man
Why can't I leave when I desire
Why can't I leave now?
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about Death - The Irony by Goddy Nana Mens
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda
- TelevisionRoald Dahl