Death and I
I don’t know exactly what life is
A hollow recurrence perhaps
But death is a decayed reminiscence.
“Live as if you’ll die tomorrow”
This advice I took to heart all along
A precarious life I lived
Erratic behavior, whimsical in thoughts
Unpredictable, nothing stable in my life.
I lived to the fullest
And every day I wondered
Which tomorrow I would die?
Years passed, I grew older
My back curved, hearing loss
Urination in middle of the night
Oh God I said,
The golden years arrived!
“If” in the phrase “Live as if you’ll die tomorrow.”
Was on the verge of deletion
Losing relevance to the text it once revived.
Divine retribution, the final revenge
The fang of death was nibbling on my life.
Haunted I was by a rasping instinct
That soon I would not be any more.
The horror of oblivion, dread of nothingness
Morphed into an eerie allure,
With death, my nemesis.
The ominous bird of my imagination
Soared in the dark realm of reverie
To touch the void, see its nothingness
A vague rendition, a concept to surmise.
I wrote the abyss, mocked its shadow
Praised the mystery, scorned its malice
A yearn to discern, a magic to follow.
As I delved into the trance,
Death appeared to me.
Then it was everywhere
To keep me company.
I shared with death many anecdotes
And it revealed to me so many more.
Its tales I found grim yet,
Fascinating to hear, so captivated I was.
Oh! Death knows a lot
It has seen it all.
Death is resourceful, crafty and shrewd
At times so merciless too.
But in all fairness,
Not as awful as I thought.
It does have a sense of humor
That I don’t care for at all
Once it said and I quote
“Life is perhaps, death is certain.”
The wisdom I praised,
The tone and the smirk turned me off.
Death has its own quirks, a softer side
One needs to realize.
Ironic yes, but death appreciates art
Although it knows well
One by creating, will never die.
Based on our instinct for survival
Death and I formed an alliance, a sordid affair.
According to our tacit accord
I don’t vilify death in my poetry and prose
In any way, shape or form.
No cheap innuendoes, clichéd symbolism,
No excessive whining or alamode noir.
Not too much darkness on my canvas,
Or gloomy birds in my art.
I show more respect to destiny,
To death, that’s coming about
Bottom line, I play along.
And in lieu of this courtesy
Death would let me live,
So long as I create art.
Contract is binding on one principle alone
To live forever or simply die!
The makeup of life however, the gist of living
The pleasure and the pain, sorrow and delight
Is only mine to decide.
I must admit
Death is bliss, an inspiration,
Since it gives a sense and a meaning
To my very life.
I don’t know exactly what life is
A hollow recurrence perhaps
But death is a decayed reminiscence.
“Live as if you’ll die tomorrow”
This advice I took to heart all along
A precarious life I lived
Erratic behavior, whimsical in thoughts
Unpredictable, nothing stable in my life.
I lived to the fullest
And every day I wondered
Which tomorrow I would die?
Years passed, I grew older
My back curved, hearing loss
Urination in middle of the night
Oh God I said,
The golden years arrived!
“If” in the phrase “Live as if you’ll die tomorrow.”
Was on the verge of deletion
Losing relevance to the text it once revived.
Divine retribution, the final revenge
The fang of death was nibbling on my life.
Haunted I was by a rasping instinct
That soon I would not be any more.
The horror of oblivion, dread of nothingness
Morphed into an eerie allure,
With death, my nemesis.
The ominous bird of my imagination
Soared in the dark realm of reverie
To touch the void, see its nothingness
A vague rendition, a concept to surmise.
I wrote the abyss, mocked its shadow
Praised the mystery, scorned its malice
A yearn to discern, a magic to follow.
As I delved into the trance,
Death appeared to me.
Then it was everywhere
To keep me company.
I shared with death many anecdotes
And it revealed to me so many more.
Its tales I found grim yet,
Fascinating to hear, so captivated I was.
Oh! Death knows a lot
It has seen it all.
Death is resourceful, crafty and shrewd
At times so merciless too.
But in all fairness,
Not as awful as I thought.
It does have a sense of humor
That I don’t care for at all
Once it said and I quote
“Life is perhaps, death is certain.”
The wisdom I praised,
The tone and the smirk turned me off.
Death has its own quirks, a softer side
One needs to realize.
Ironic yes, but death appreciates art
Although it knows well
One by creating, will never die.
Based on our instinct for survival
Death and I formed an alliance, a sordid affair.
According to our tacit accord
I don’t vilify death in my poetry and prose
In any way, shape or form.
No cheap innuendoes, clichéd symbolism,
No excessive whining or alamode noir.
Not too much darkness on my canvas,
Or gloomy birds in my art.
I show more respect to destiny,
To death, that’s coming about
Bottom line, I play along.
And in lieu of this courtesy
Death would let me live,
So long as I create art.
Contract is binding on one principle alone
To live forever or simply die!
The makeup of life however, the gist of living
The pleasure and the pain, sorrow and delight
Is only mine to decide.
I must admit
Death is bliss, an inspiration,
Since it gives a sense and a meaning
To my very life.