The death is near
The sky is looking dark
As a shroud of made of night
Soul is getting ready to embark
On a journey to a land
Mysterious and till unknown
Where from message can’t come
From those who have before gone
Holy water is sprinkled
To wash away sins of years
Flowers are strewn thick around
Bed amidst swearing and tears
Final bell is about to be rung
Calculation is already done
Events are told in cold whisper
Suppressed hiccup leave no pain
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Death is an uninvited caller! He comes at unexpected times. But for some, it is an awaited reality and those around calculate future proceedings in advance without even a taint of sorrow. Some face death nonchalantly while most of the people dread the final going! A well written poem on death!