Friday, August 21, 2009

48. Don’t visit me now

Don’t visit me now, my love.

The end seems quite near,
Even obituary has been written
Preparations for last rites
Are all meticulously done.

All those obliged to come
Have arrived from far and wide
And gathered around my bed,
Waiting in anxious anticipation
For things to get over quickly.

All are in unseemly hurry
To perform their worldly duty,
To claim what they think is theirs
And go back to their daily chores.

I will not be able to depart
If I see you now, my love,
Don’t interrupt my journey
Don’t visit me now, my love.


R. Ramesh said...

boss u really write so well yar..cheers

How do we know said...

Beautiful!!! beautiful!!

Keats The Sunshine Girl said...

Thanks for those thoughts of a dying breath. If we have to go, nothing can stop us.

Saadia said...


Anonymous said...

Sad indeed.

vibhu said...

It is ok yaar! The poem is sad - that's fine but making some shrilling noises!! This reminds me of your pieces (in Prose) on 'Death' - the subject really entices you. Isn't it?