Yes, It Is My Death

Yes, it is my death,
That invites me to die,
And I am dying always.
Without taking leave
From any court and
I am ignorant about
The evidences therefor.

The actions are virtuous,
No one can say with guarantee,
And I, though present for long
Did not know what is there.
For which I am greed in my words
And it is life through
Spiritual practice and good company.

I am not inviting death
But death itself is coming to me
For the reasons best known to all.
Nothing to explain more
Dry leaves are falling at this time
Some one says it is winter
While another says it is summer.

by Gajanan Mishra

Comments (1)

great poem.........death is end.......it's like a unsolved puzzle that baffles us every time..........thanks for sharing it.