By Kshitij Sharma
Once death disguised himself as a pauper, feeling whimsy,
And forgot all about it, his memory ever so flimsy.
Soon he wasn’t even a pauper, he was empty,
Hungrily, hurriedly approaching a man rid of misery.
“Give me your money, give all that you bring,
For today, only I shall merrily drink.”
“Take everything, take even my wedding ring,
But spare my life, for someone awaits my disharmonious sing.”
“Good for you, oh, so conquered of suffering,
But in earth you shall blend, futile is any blustering.”
“You, the singing man, might still be conniving,
Fear not the end, though stark, it is but nothing.”
“You don’t understand, foolhardy boy,
There is no shady deceit or a cunning ploy,
I don’t have a trojan horse, nor is this troy,
But I am not my own, in love so tightly wound.”
“So existential, poor’s desire for satiation,
Kill, if you must, feeling full is indeed salvation,
No remorse for morsels, but for the living’s cessation,
Ending is my journey’s destination, but hers devastation.”
“I am also the demon’s guide & secrets hoarder
plenty lives I could save, yet you sever.
But my purpose remains, steadfast forever,
Carry my torch, if sparing cannot ever.”
“This is too much contemplation, for bread & butter,
Take your life, and heal with chitter & chatter.”
“Carry the baton never until dyed, only try till you die,
Cherish her, for who is yours, is a lucky die.”