Time Of Death Poem by Anil Kumar Panda

Hollow eyes with wax coated
irises stare vacantly at the streets;
glasses hung loose at the nose tip;
nothing going right since dawn as
hands fail to grope what is needed.

There will be an end-approaching
silently through the back door of
life. Shadows are getting longer
as the sun goes down at the back.

The yard is empty. Pigeons have
gone to doze off inside the cotes.
Lamps will be lit before the gods;
prayers will be sung in a muffled
tone to make the journey peaceful