One Minute To Death
Czadanda Saint *
What is there in death?
Which makes us want to live
What is there in dying?
Which makes us to celebrate living
Death, creeping up onto us
Death, crawling up unto us
Is it the eye of the needle
Or is it the glint in the Reaper's eyes
Smiling pleasantly
Silently without a rush
Laying its cold blooded finger
Coiling our warm blooded veins
Waiting
Winding up our clock
Waiting
For the pounding to stop
With its vice like grip
Upon our empty souls
Our bodies, shrunken up, wasted
Our minds, degenerate
Our eyes withered away
Our voices, turned out be our Judas
Only we hear the faint laughter
Of the Grim Reaper
Its echo fading slowly away
As we finally close our eyes
With our final drop of tears
Tracing its way down our cheeks.
* Poem written by Czadanda Saint for e-pao.net
The poet can be contacted at saddanskhaibam(at)gmail(dot)com
This poem was webcasted on April 08 2015.
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