Posted in Death, Poetry

At the close.

HealingHands
All of us are going to die. We know this, and use time as a buffer against fear, to distance ourselves from the inevitable end. People spend their last moments in varying degrees of fear and disbelief, despite knowing that all things die. I have often wondered as to how I’d feel, emotionally, as I left for my heavenly abode, to use the customary euphemism. This is a brief reflection of my thoughts.
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What will you do when the reaper comes
And beckons with a skeletal hand?
That scythe to slice you out of life
The hourglass having drained its sand.
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Will he catch you unawares too soon,
Have you flail and thrash with horror deep
Cling onto light in the spreading gloom
And clutch at kin who with grief weep?
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Or will you depart with quiet resign
And follow him to the tunnel’s end
Sigh with sweet acceptance without
The desire of broken things to mend.
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Sad will be if its you who calls
The hooded scythe-bearer to receive
Your soul, to escape the blasphemy,
The shadow of regret to deceive.
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I wonder what will my bearing be
When quietus comes to claim my breath.
I pray for easy passing with
Strength to sail the ship of death.
Posted in Poetry

Captain Gone

We regard fear as a negative emotion that must be made to dissipate as quickly as possible, but often fear is the much-needed spur to action, without which we slacken to the point of becoming entirely unproductive. This poem is an extended metaphor for something I experienced during the board exams.

The Captain of this mighty vessel,
Seems to have up and gone.
The Captain, holy, and revered so
Left ere the light of morn

Caressed the world with a sigh of warmth.
I, at first, did rejoice.
For Captain’s resign so firm, unbending,
Without I’d find my voice.

Or so I thought, and delight I did
In master’s sudden leave,
And sauntered idle the fair decks where
Did freedom nothing cleave.

But I, being a novice to steering
Solo, felt relief wane,
As approached sudden a raging storm
And mocked my ease with rain.

O fear! Fear! My precious spur I lost,
Without dear captain’s force.
And I now covet Captain’s return,
To steer the ship a course.

O fear, return! Your governance, prized,
I crave, to guide me forth.
Your absence left me shiftless and wrong
I was to your ways loathe.

I ceased to fear and breathed easy,
Alas, too short a while,
The pseudo-comfort rendered me dull
When sea did churn and rile.

I wrecked my craft when I lost my fear,
In laxity I drowned.
Fear of failure can steer big ships
To harbor safe and sound.