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He was alive should breathing be called life, 
In state of peace and bliss, no surface strife, 
Suffering in silent resolve for long, 
A man as was of intense self-esteem, 
Died long ere, waiting still for a death-gong, 
Life is a melting pot, man’s dreams go grim. 

Alive for sure was he as all plants are, 
As fruits that ripen to a reddish tinge, 
To say, he never felt is going far, 
Softest of touch makes some shy creepers cringe, 
Man’s born with thinking head and feeling heart, 
In hierarchy of life he’s way apart. 

Human body being a garment born, 
Like any raiment, gets worn-out and old, 
Yet breathes on until of life gets shorn, 
In times far gone the soul seeks a new mould, 
For, body’s gone beyond a fair repair, 
Alive is it bare on some borrowed air. 

The right to own things, be it West or East— 
Be it a hut, large house, or huge estate, 
Is fancy hankering not so the least, 
No one need doubt nor ever hesitate, 
Bestowed by heaven in fecund foresight, 
Should a mere mortal snatch what’s divine right? 

And yet he how so tall sits in judgment, 
And ponders hard what with his humdrum head, 
Mundane logic, letters of law, and scant 
Respect for heart's feelings oh bleeding red, 
Soon to pronounce his pre-pondered wisdoms, 
What if it clashes with Supreme Kingdom’s? 

The right to life when heavenly right is, 
Should we deny his right to die in peace? 
It’s not against heaven— wanting to die, 
But sure is: his fair freedom to deny; 
For, when a man seeks freedom from all strife, 
A man he’s in search of new life yon life! 

And one day when he dies in agony, 
We wise folk be at fault being unkind, 
The docs and nurses, all and so many, 
The legal lords clueless with tomes well-lined, 
And heaven shall curse hallowed heads hell-bent 
To deny him dignity of garment! 
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Death is change of garment. Man should be free to discard old, diseased body. The right to own things is incomplete without the right to disown. So is the right to life, to die. But we seem to be mixed up on this and have complicated things for the old and suffering wishing to die peacefully in a dignified way. It is time we rethink on this and empathize on such wishes. Euthanasia is no mercy killing. It is about dying gently, right to live and die in dignity. This poem is about one such sufferer. It tries to bring home these points. 
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 Reflections on happenings | 02.10.08 |
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