ATM (18-12-1986 / Dhaka, Bangladesh)

Death Be Not Proud

Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

User Rating: 3,8 / 5 ( 202 votes ) 16

Comments (16)

Really a poignant rendition set aside for sober reflection. An insightful creation written with clarity of thought and mind. Thanks for sharing, Abu.
This is a beautiful poem on life and death. Thanks and congratulations for being selected this poem as the poe m of the day.
Childhood re-visited with much emotional reminiscence. Heart touching write. Thanks.
My burning days of gold My dearest of memories Seventy years old! ...…….memorizing….childhood is a golden memory in old age...CONGRATULATIONS being chosen as The Member Poem Of The Day. Hurray! God's Blessings! A 10 Full Score for this touching poem.
It is good that you hold an impression of that time in memory. You have cherished and preserved a remnant of those burning days. If not for offerings made inwardly, such a flame would expire before age seventy.
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