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Photo taken at Plitvice National Park, Croatia by Vibhor Dhote Oh! What are these days I have found myself in! The bagpacks I carry n...

Wednesday, February 1, 2017

Dear Death

Come if you have to,
Knock on my door and wait till it's unbolted,
Throw a stone at my window;
If it's really you, let me know.

Come not like you did ten years ago,
Carrying him in a bag of flesh and bones.
If his dying face, his mother cannot see
Come not this way, this year, this week...

Come when it's time
The way you came yesterday,
Sat near his grandfather's bed-
A cup of tea served,
His glasses neatly folded on the little round table
Beside his daily dosage of news and pills,
Leaving when he was asleep.

Come not like the way you came
Some five years ago, in a local train,
He hung himself after he wailed
Or it was you with his roommate
Who pushed him to death.

Come not when he promises of seeing me again.
Come when the goodbyes are not so hard.
Dear Death,
Bring not the friend called fear with you
Bring not regret and grief too.

Come when you have to
But not like the lover who hopes for a future.
Come not like the broken pieces of the lovelorn's heart
That find a new home with each passing cloud.

Come when it's time
But touch not the ones left behind.
Come with the darkness of the night,
Come like another sunset on a desert bright
Where every sunrise is a promise, a hope
Where all we ask for
Is the sun to set a little too late
Where we're gay too
If it sets a little too soon
But never do we ask
For it to set when it's time...