“The death lasts an average of 49 days, starting from the day the deceased realized his death”. Bardo Thodol (The Tibetan Book of the Dead)
I beg you, death, pour me the final sip
of your elixir of the dreamless sleep.
Oh, strongest wine of darkness in the glass
I’ve dipped my lips just seven weeks ago,
which bitter sweetness promised to bestow
upon me an oblivion. Alas,
the everlasting boozer comes around.
He’s mortal as of now, he is bound
to see another one anemic dawn
of consciousness among the smoking ruins
of non-existence. Curse you all, the brewings
and the distilleries of death! The morn
of a new life is painful. The hangover,
the nausea, the ache - that's all what's left
of my sweet void. Oh, the internal heft
of being!.. The phlox, the marigold, the clover
on my fresh grave are still in bloom but I
am born again to suffer and to die.
Copyright © Kurt Ravidas | Year Posted 2019
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
to post a comment