Myth may it be, or be it man’s blind faith,
A rehearsal perfecting dance of death,
For not but death is every passing breath.
A cosmic law—death is fortuitous fate
For a fresh new life with a fresh new date
For one more dance of destiny in wait!
Be it a fruit, a flower, or a fly,
Man or matter, none e’er can death defy;
Are not all things destined one day to die?
With his morbid phobia man stands alone,
Is he scared of death or of fate unknown?
Does not life come seed of death duly sown?
And Death, not just a balm to every pain,
End of every suffering, every strain,
A sunny rainbow should perchance it rain!
And what dies is but raiment worn out, old,
Death delivers a new garment of gold,
A God-given gift ‘tis for a fresh mould!
Let it what be, death’s no devil so grim,
Nor is life poet’s pet theme, passing dream,
A golden chance to rise, surface like cream!
Aniruddha Pathak
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/death-863/
