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| art by ashok |
Strange a thought, I know not why,
Has suddenly struck my mind:
That if this minute I am to die,
Heaven or hell, will I find?
It may be too early to bed,
But will I rise to behold the dawn?
Will I behold the sun in red?
And dew drops in my lawn?
How strange I am, my wants and ways,
And stranger still my brain -
That hates to wrinkle old with greys'
But craves a longer reign.
One score years I've been on Earth,
At last I've stopped to ponder:
Did I live my life its worth?
"No", says a voice," Unforgivable offender".
How many times I've mocked a friend!
How many butterflies I've killed for fun!
Never I forgave nor forgot a foe, and
Never confessed a wrong I've done.
If I turn my last page now,
Few dears may shed a sorry tear;
But have I earned a name above?
If 'yes' I say- I am a liar.
Far more my sins, far more they are,
Than all the stars of the firmament;
Years ahead I have, I thought, for -
Never did I kneel to repent.
Aches my heart to think its been,
A selfish life of pride and lust;
I wilt, I wane, I weep unseen,
What if I hit the lowly dust!
Ashamed I am of a life so mean,
Rich of rotten rubbish and rust;
O' Time is lean and I've to clean,
'Fore I wither, 'fore I burst.
Every soul sure has his harvest;
Good or bad he has to reap;
Worst or best the reward is must,
'Fore or after his dreamless sleep.
A day of must we have to rest,
In a seven feet bed, great or meek;
Then gold and silver - why we quest?
Power and pelf - why we seek?
The World's a library and men are books;
A book has an End - but was it good?
Fame, fortune and lovely looks,
They travel not beneath the mud.
So, let the blow be far or near;
Lo! I've got in time the message;
Even if it’s just an year,
I will live it as a sage.
The journey may be short or long,
But was it for a worthy cause?
And thus goes the Wiseman’s song:
"It matters 'HOW?’ not 'HOW LONG?' it was" !
Written in 1995 (reposted from my archives)
