Death

What we do, at last, shall make us get,
What men know are few opulent days and penurious weeks,
Keep knowing the betrayed eyes and fragile shrieks
Until the tears swell our fate.

God, paint me with darkness,
Matters it not to me,
The world isn't that what we urge to see.
(A tedious journey, few selfish names and greedy faces.)

Death, make me yours and what with me it is,
Soon, within my transient days and weeks.
Let me blow with the heaven's breeze
As here, neither ceases the emotions nor the time's shrieks.

When we blink, what we see, death is it,
If not, men shall be god and this world shall never exist.

by Saheb Mohapatra

Comments (4)

Nice piece of work. Thanks for sharing this poem with us. Yes, the end of evcerything is death. E.K.L.
A poignant piece expressed beautifully with wonderful lines.......keep writing....full marks
good one, I like it, thanks.
Death is pre determined and a truth. God paints space with dark matters. Darkness is compared with death. Likewise birth can be compared with light. Only it is important to understand about transient. Vey beautifully presented this poem about death. I am awarding you full mark 10 for this poem in rating. May God bless you. Keep on writing.