Oh death, you odious fiend!
I wonder your purpose, your mysterious trend.
Many a valiant soul’s perishing, you have penned,
You have broken millions of hearts,
Cost an ocean of tears,
Leaving people’s sanity spent.
What pleasure do you derive
From the eternal grief of inconsolable souls?
Why do you emit your vile essence
To scar mankind manifold?
Even the liveliest crop of youth
Is reduced to mother’s material untold.
What is this baffling aura of yours?
Everything you touch becomes blessed.
You drape people and lore
In the pure of saffron and white –
Enforcing virtue by duress
Even when they spent their lives building evil fortresses.
Repugnance feels like your essence,
Yet, when drawn close, people embrace
Diving into your chasm, eustace
The rot of inexpressible grief
Turns to subjectivity’s paramount chase
Relieving misery, pain beyond what’s expressed.
I thought you were a masquerading saint,
A historian drawing contours, providing closure,
To a narrative’s picture you paint.
But you weren’t alone. Instead, you were a tool,
Granting purpose even when you are perceived as cruel.
You unite the breath of life, even across
The calm banks of Vaitarni, a place
Where souls can, for once, rest.
You are the greatest gift to humanity,
A cog in legacy’s progress.
Perhaps you aren’t what we make of you –
You are merciful, innocent.
Your grace never discriminates –
From those who are meek to those strong,
From the valiant to the cowardly, you are never wrong.
You are the one certainty whose existence
Can never be denied. Instead, it is fabled –
Despised and celebrated for long.
I’m grateful to you, for you make hearts pump
As hard as the burning sun, just to be buried
As seeds, nourishing the past and future with my manna.
That’s the interest paid for a passionate life –
That’s worth my desire, emotions and drive. That’s how we thrive.
You give birth to ego, and you take it away without prompt.
Such magnanimity should be celebrated with pride
Not mangling it in derision’s tide.
Knowing this, all I wish for is to have a meaningful life
But an even more meaningful death.
For even the grandest of spoils in life are all in vain
When excruciating pain scars my soul –
Harrowed by the bitter twilight in my dying moments.
Blessed may be my plea for transcendence.
Written by Saurav Das for MTTN
Edited by Ishita Sharma for MTTN
Featured Artwork by Yatee Samantaray for MTTN