The Edge Of Breath Poem by ashok jadhav

I stand beside the quiet of my flesh,
And feel the pulse that measures fleeting time.
The bones beneath my skin remember life,
Yet know the weight of hours that cannot stay.
Each breath a gift, yet fragile as a flame,
Each thought a witness to the shadow near.
I see the mirror of what will not last,
The fleeting shape of flesh, the mind's decay.
No skill, no wealth, no plea can turn the tide,
And all my acts will vanish as the wind.
The heart protests, yet learns its own small truth:
To face the end is to behold oneself.
Perhaps the soul is measured not by span,
But by the depth with which it dares to live.
To know mortality is to choose each step,
To treasure fleeting joy, to bear each pain,
And in the narrow window of this life
To leave a trace beyond the mortal frame.