Aniruddha Pathak Poet Sonnet

In death equal made

Cinders of no edifice can show proof 
How hoary did it look under the dome, 
Nor dust can vouch if it came from tall roof 
Of a hallowed church, or from poor man’s home, 
Or if the dust was blown by a tiny 
Burst of rare breeze, or by world wind so great,
No warden would vouch for its pedigree, 
Nor would a priest predict its sublime fate, 
So does the ash of a funeral pyre—   
If it peeled off a prince in regal suit, 
Or off a pauper that died a death dire, 
For, hushed up dusty graves lie stony mute,
And death cometh equal as gasping breath, 
Levelling all— if not in life, in death. 
_________________________________ 
Sonnet | 01.11.2011, revised August 2024 |

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