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Come O Death when bells toll, too late nor soon, 
Thy fault too often times is waiting long, 
Come at right time and thou art such a boon, 
To scorn thee means: pain of life to prolong, 
O come, carry out thy thankless duty, 
Thou art benign, not masked in mystery. 

Mortal mankind is made of shorter breath, 
And journey’s milestones paved in paths of death, 
One of which’s marked in my name, I believe, 
Ye can’t be deemed as a monstrous devil, 
It is the soul that has opted to leave, 
And which having its own will, lives on still. 

Death, thou art not an unresolved riddle, 
Life lives on, firm in a long journey's saddle 
To pursuit of evolution's struggle, 
Wherein to die ere time’s a sin evil, 
But when ye come, I know well not to haggle, 
Not to die when time’s due is greater ill. 

Scoring a goal but once is no life's aim, 
I’ll strive on till ye break for interval, 
I’ll keep the ball in play till last whistle, 
And what ends is one round, not entire game, 
I’ll keep in mind, there's always extra time, 
To keep my grit alive, play with all prime. 

And life that rises like sun in death sets,  
Arising in time for the next voyage, 
Death's like penning life's penultimate page, 
Nigh like leaping in dark that frightful gets, 
Just as in winter a migrating bird, 
I’m a poet in search of my last word. 

But when ye come at last, help me O Death, 
With my baggage of burden, my pen's crimes, 
Vague whispers and half truths writ in good faith, 
Help me polish my pen in life’s new climes, 
So, let me die pen and paper in hand, 
Till then keep inspiring me O my friend.

Still, I’ve a lot stored in my aged mind,
I’d like to take forward, not leave behind,
So, O Flames, burn them not to ash, be kind.
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Musings | 02.11.2011, revised Jan 2023 | Sestina on death
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