The Aftermath Poem by Kiranjit Singh Bajaj

I know not the end of the road,
The void that besiges us in the aftermath,
Will the soul share my flight?
And the eternal flame live on?
Will there be a state of consciousness,
When I leave my bod?
Or extinguished in death,
Will I be no more?

Will I be really dead?
Left to cease in absolute rest?
Or will I be denied my peace,
Put through the furnace, embodied again,
Labeled with a religion, put to test,
Will the Creator make a puppet of me?
And put me through the grind again?

And what real master doth He,
Who may need to be fulfilled?
When strings attached, in shackles,
Life is but all that he has ordained,
For I am not my own creation,
And know not how to fulfill,
For neither did I will to be, nor am I my own.

Will the eternal light that embraces,
Finally put me to rest?
Or will I still be a captive, restive in death?
When will I really cease to be?
Absolutely unconscious, extinguished, dead,
How do I break free?
When will I really be no more?
In absolute peace, eternally dead.