The Cold Embrace of Death

Though the sun had begun bleeding in the West With an explorer’s gait, I walked jumping over gutters My track, flanked with knee high grass and nettles Also, wild bushes of all kinds that grew in clusters I saw dragon flies whirring around in circles Their wings catching glints of the evening light, As they buzzed from one blade of grass to the other Giving a solitary soul benign company and sure delight. Strange enough, my track ended in an open space, Enclosed by cracked walls, now a forlorn territory. There are raised mounds, overgrown with weeds, I can easily make out that it is an ancient cemetery. In these graves lie those under the cold embrace of death. Their toil and trouble ended with life. They must have been perhaps heroes of the land. No more are they part of world’s victory or strife. Nor its sad commemorations or triumphant jubilees Though released from the shackles of oppression Each dear presence has now become an absence Here they lie anonymous, without a single possession. Some graves are marked by head stones with crude grooves. But most of them are nameless, worn out by time We do not know how or when came their end Did they die in old age or die in their prime. Or perish in a battle or struck by some pestilence However, their names are blotted out from life’s tome. They have become inseparably one with the elements, And they lie here motionless exuding a strange calm. Generations pass and their progeny comes, Unmindful of who lived before them Neither thankful of the legacy left behind, Nor thinking all the comforts, from their toil stem. Oh Death, you are the mighty leveller of lives! With your cold embrace, all differences are ironed out, And here lies both the king and slave alike, In silent sepulchres, with all earthly glory snubbed out!