Meditation On Mortality Poem by Suman Mondal

I travel midst the mind of my last,
Sure, I can't go far enough to see,
Where last breath hides inside of me,
Pride of long past abates into dust.

I ask shyly, 'So far in life I have gone,
Tasted drops of honey from nectar's pot,
Woe and glee both be, and that's a lot,
What if too long has this vessel shone? '

Attempts are futile, no answers cry a call,
Only a silence distinct from silence,
Eyes closed, only dark odour's sense,
And, in precise instance, my body does fall.

Empty vessel, I hear only mourn and grief,
Fresh morning dew on the grass so green,
Seven drops of grievance on my face be seen,
And a long life, it seems, finds subtle relief.

Upset, as dirges are sung by pals in cluster,
Once had I been jocund in their own way,
They walk, and on their shoulders I sway,
And so, my body meets earth all the faster.

They return and carry wild dolorous pain,
Eyes that had never watered before now anguish,
Some call the vile marks they never wished,
Some stir up amiable greetings in the group again.

For some, betrayed in life, too have gone,
Or give obdurate affliction that one endures,
To some, whose quietude of mind cures,
The last breath to heave, or heave forlorn.

Life, they know well too must fall and yield,
But, so short is life, and so much hatred, love—
Fear, joy, sorrow, peace, chaos, dreams above,
Solitude, faith, doubt have never been revealed.

So, let my existence fade and cease at the end,
And, remember not what I was or did to you,
Or, what cost you envy, or perhaps all that's due,
Let you forget, and drink until to me you, too, send.