How arid is Mortality
How barren and ghastly bare,
How shorn of all emotion
The mind, a blank stare,
But
‘Tis only a little step
From here to there,
A breath is all it is
A bit of fresh air,
All open and transparent
No attempts to ensnare,
All ordained by the Master,
The chequerboard and the Square.

That’s Life, a game of great Chance
Waltzing Matilda, the Danube, the Dance,
It carries with it, deep and close
A spear, as it were, a golden lance,
It zooms, it rockets, stands on its head
Life’s prone to violently prance,
As does a horse in ecstasy
Till it’s heart it does one day,
Lance.

So, go with it, flow with it, Time’s on the run
The River of life has a “no- return”,
It’s destined to meet Eternity
In the form of the expanses of the seas,
Vast and boundless
Like the Sun that, we feel,
Beyond the horizon
Perhaps, does not burn.

Life is short, why shorten it
Why blinkers on when the road is lit,
Make the most of the Time that’s yours
Why brood, why on your haunches sit.

Stride, unmindful of Morrows intent
The setting Sun will rise again,
No monopolies that a night holds
Foolish, indeed, is the world of Men

(The author is a prolific poet who has over 40 poetry books to his credit. He can be reached at ashoksawhny06@gmail.com)