MS (25-11-1960 / Pakistan)

On Death

A physician that relives,
Pangs of all maladies,
Indiscriminate to small or great;
Treads under the heavy hooves,
Who are too raised in the world,
Presses them hard to flatten
But it touches them gently,
Who crumble their rebellious ego.

A frequent visiting phenomenon,
Yet forsaken by the victims,
Rough to arrogant and proud,
But subservient slave to Omnipotent,
Fears not obeying His commands.
Removes the screen opaque or green
Eclipsing inevitable final reality.

An open door where from,
Each one has to go through,
The weak, fragile and humble,
Pass with Extra-case and dignity,
But the fat, strong and arrogant,
Are flayed ‘to shorten before,
To the size, with a chopper,
Crumbled and crushed ruthlessly,
With, forky nailed claws of death,
It is hard, really hard, very hard.

Oh man! Feast not upon arrogance,
Do fairly right deeds of charity,
Lest unbridled pride should make you,
Too fat to pass through smoothly,
From the door affixed in The lofty well.

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