The duodeca wheel is turned
Almost to the end of year
And once again the voice has come
Whispering softly in her ear,
Seductively, 'Please come with me
And I will soothe with balm
Allyour wounds and all your burns
And smother all with calm.
Your cost is small, nothing at all,
A stone with name and date.'
She resisted, though drawn in,
Not yet, it's not my fate.
Still, like a lover whispering near,
'All will be peace, all will be well,
Just give your life to me..'
If lucky, to continue long
Life has its many stages.
Sometimes, oh yes, all thing belong
In spaces, slots and cages.
But chaos other times besets
Who plan for all the ages.
Fragmented, shattered, some regrets
All arrows off the gauges.
And now the lover, Death, appears
With sultry, silky, crooning voice,
'Oh come, I shall remove those fears
Don't ponder your next choice'.
The Bard had said, 'to be or not....'
Decision must be day to day.
So many wander cold to hot
So many, many pray.
The fight always, only, delay
But fight she must, the fight sublime
And live inside the fray.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem