Skeleton’s Soliloquy
A backwash of death and body's decay,
The soul—once dwelt within me—is no more.
In life-death script's passably long play,
I could not—I don't know why—reach the shore.
I lie naked now with many others,
Forgetting caste, colour, creed, polity;
Confronting all weather with no druthers,
Pushed towards a preset equality.
Isn't there, in my core, an inner strength?
There's a truth of perseverance of life;
There is, in me, an endless breadth and length
Of forgone pains of existential strife.
Am I the monarch of this breathless deep,
Or just a puppet death has put to sleep?
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