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Death and the Poets

Poets have always had a deep connection with Death
As if,
They sort of knew
That the occult power that it is made of
Is the medium through which
The ultimate form of freedom is attained!

Poets' deep respect for Death
Is as loud as impure love is
For the sinners
Or as harsh as Gods' punishment is
When their words are not taken into account for!
Why, 
It can be as beautiful
As divine love is when it chooses 
To strike a soul, pure and blessed!

Of Death have I made my sole aim
Living in a world where madness reigns
Where senses get overtaken by Maya's force
Where traps are laid all the way by the forces of darkness
Where the Devil dances over its skies
Has brought me to realize that the aches which prick me
As cruelly as cold claws would grip my heart
Only to lure me to there where sins glow in fires
Ready to consume me if I don't bow down to them
Are merely temporary and ephemeral,
As Death would take over someday
And would give me the freedom
Which I yearn for so painfully!

Pray, life is a ridiculous show
It aims to see us follow the masses as blindly as sheep
If we choose to stand out as loners
We get shamed on all sides, bullied at all costs
Prey to predatorial wolves, experienced in the many ways
Of how to hurt us,
Physically or emotionally!

Death and poetry have their hands tied together
In a bond which shall never broken
By anyone else,
Not even by the Gods!

Death and I are old friends
For its coming do I wait for
With expectations ringing loud in my heart
As loud as those which would ring
In children on the night of Christmas Eve! 

Poets have always had a deep connection with Death
And I,
Like so many others before me
Can only celebrate its being
By living my life while wearing it as a tiara over my head!

Copyright © | Year Posted 2019




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