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Poems On / About DEATH  9/21/2014 9:06:58 AM
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  337.     

Disarming

Confronting death, they meditate
in charnel grounds and other scary sites,
Tibetan yogis facing fate
of death, which they allow to claim its rights
and undermine their great elation,
rendered harmless as they now invite
to join them in their meditation
death, which they deprive of sting and bite.

More than Judeo-Christians re-
alistic, they don’t choose to rage about
the dying of the light, and see
within death’s darkness no cause for them to doubt
that death is no less part of life
than feet and hands are part of legs and arms,
while seeing it no cause of strife,
but part of life that it in peace disarms.
 
gershon hepner

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  338.     

D.E.A.T.H

The death is calling for you dear,
Your heart trembles in fear,

The soul starts to cries and shiver,
Bit by bit the body gain suffer,

Tumble around for death is a pain,
Struggling to live your effort is in vain,

Your body is a rotting meat you want to live?
Fools can cure death and you fools believe,

Acting foolish to avoid the death,
Planning to live till the aftermath,

To fools the plan is a flawless sound,
But death shall eat you like a flawless hound,

Just endure and not to cry,
All you can do is say goodbye.
 
Eye Man

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  339.     

Life a short span betwixt two deaths

A king once dreamt a pre-dawn weird dream—
A notice from Yama, the Lord of Death:
Along morrow’s setting sun you shall die;
Dawn’s half dreams come true, thought he waking up.

Worried, he weighed for long: how death to beat,
But knowing naught, summoned his minister;
‘The sole escape: beat a hasty retreat
‘From Death on wings of a flying stallion,
‘Leave Death behind trailing too far and tired,
‘Beat too the setting sun, let none o’ertake.’

Feeling assured, he thanked his wise vazeer;
What strange things people do to escape death!
Which, but a tax is— tithe for new bodies,
New garments as Bhagavad-Gita doth say,
But we do strange things to evade tithe too,
Kings and commoners alike are in this.

Taking a windy horse he tore off far
Racing, feeling fatigue, hunger nor thirst,
Yon of his land’s border in balmy woods,
Dripping wet with sweat, horse foaming in mouth;
The sun was nigh close to but not yet set.
Triumphant at last, he reined in his horse
Under a huge banyan tree, catching breath,
Hoping for him and horse heaven’s-hailed rest,
Patting its back, grateful hand on its head,
‘Bravo my boy, ah, we’ve beaten them both—
‘Death and Time both—and more, ah, saved my life,
‘I care for none, Time nor that evil Death,
‘The twain must have been shaken in their faith.’

‘Not yet’, he felt a heavy hand on back,
‘Not shaken in faith, worried sure I was
‘If you would reach here ere the day dies out,
‘But your horse sure deserves richest of praise,
‘It brought you to Death to die destined death.
‘This early dawn I was well nigh worried,
‘If you could reach my chosen place of death,
‘The reason I had to be in your dream.
‘Death does not come to man, time is when right,
‘It’s man that comes, as if drawn to the site.’

Just as a new dawn dawns, like a fresh spring,
The dusk of old age is writ, death and drain,
And ever since life gets spent manoeuvring—
Escapade as if all day— but in vain!

To escape from inevitable death,
Some seek wealth and some health, some name and fame,
But time and death triumph o’er all the same,
Fame is like footprints on the sands of time,
Come dusk and tide, naught is saved to rhyme,
The book of eternity’s a print-less page,
It carries to the end a blank image,
Death from all things born draws an equal faith.

The church bells toll; ask not for whom and why,
They toll for everyone, now or near nigh,
And what is Death but a whim of one’s mind?
Life lives betwixt of two deaths: fore and hind.
___________________________________________________
The story of escape from death is unfolded in blank verse.
The poem is loosely metered in iambic pentameter. Towards
the end depicting the truth of death, the poem shifts to
rhymed lines. Perhaps, the truth of death always rhymes!
_________________________________________________________
- Musings | 02.10.12 |
 
Aniruddha Pathak

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  340.     

mother death

MOTHER DEATH
Death is inevitable
to every body born
death comes
definitely on a day
to escape there is any way
None know when and where
death makes them mom
why to afraid of death
It stands besides you
like shadow and friend
death like mother
sent her son to the school
son reads writes runs jumps, dance
quarrels, falls, rises and play
His school bell rang
permitting him to home
Mother comes
hugs in her arms
takes him back home
Mother kisses time and again
baths him to make fresh
changes the dress
feeds food and affection
and makes him to sleep
with mother's song
next day morning
mother wakes him up
and makes him ready to school
with the uniform
and send him school
son feels happy to go
home with mother
Death is mother
give all pleasure to son
Death a beautiful
mother and
good singer
who sing
mother's song
and make boy
boy happy
to sleep
 
Suguna Prasad Kalvala

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