Friday, August 28, 2009

Poem: Life or Death

Hear my woes, dear mind and soul,
For I have been struck, by a vicious bolt,
How upsetting, how beleaguering,
Yet who am I to jest, for I am clandestinely enamored,
By the scent of a poet, nay, not a fraud.

Yet fraud is I, I used to think,
Filled with sadness, sorrow and strife,
What is a smile, what is a laugh,
I wouldn’t know, for I was terribly blasé.

Lying in my chamber, waiting for the moment,
When the heartbeat would die, and the angel would arise,
Grabbing my soul, taking my worth,
Leaving my home, with nothing by my side.

How sad it was, for I have nothing there is,
No good deeds, not even a tiny bite,
Where have I been, I cried to myself,
Lonely in sorrow, callous in life,
How could I die, when everything’s a lie.

I fluttered my lids, spotting a companion,
Just a soft breeze, caressing my senses,
A fine acquaintance, couldn’t talk, couldn't laugh,
Soothing my conscience, with its merciless love.

What is conscience? I began to think,
Do I have one? I began to wonder,
Perhaps I do, somewhere in my heart,
Buried deep, waiting to be discovered.

Ya Allah, forgive me dearly,
For I have sinned, by not thinking clearly,
I lived in shame, I lived in regret,
But surely enough, it’s not too late.

Read the world, read the soul,
Feed the hunger, nurture the thirsty soul,
Life is nothing but a fleeting dream,
But what’s a dream, if it was forsaken.

Taken for granted, never was cherished,
Take your pick, choose your crate,
A splendid person, rejuvenated by a good night sleep,
Or a cranky fellow, intimidated by a vicious nightmare.

Follow your suit, follow your taste,
For which do you prefer, life or death?
What is a life, if melancholically lived,
What is a death, if the heart was filled with mindless air?

Life or death, the way of a human,
Nothing to deny, for nothing could be done,
So strive for your chances, do the undone,
For nothing is better, than a job well done.

(this is what I do when I can’t sleep at night. I assure you, it only happens once in a blue moon. I suppose this month is a blue moon, because poem is such a rarity, even for me. Weird.)

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