I’m struggling
I’m trying to beat it
It’s a match
With strength and endurance
Death keeps staring at me
With those devil eyes of his
Whispering things
No human has ever heard before
I’m not where I should be
I don’t think I ‘m ready on what
Is about to happen
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Filed under: Death Poems and Poetry
What happened that day
26th of november - a wednesday
the day when mumbai was turned upside down
and terrorists blowed up the entire town
men, women, children - none did they spare
and the politicians - did they care??
bobs were blasted, bullets - fired
but the terrorists weren’t tired
many a hundred men died
and others who lived - cried
peace came soon after
but for a long time, there was no laughter
and though the wounds inflicted on the taj will soon disappear
one thing is crystal clear
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Filed under: Death Poems and Poetry
SHE died,—this was the way she died;
And when her breath was done,
Took up her simple wardrobe
And started for the sun.
Her little figure at the gate
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Filed under: Death Poems and Poetry
DEATH sets a thing significant
The eye had hurried by,
Except a perished creature
Entreat us tenderly
To ponder little workmanships
In crayon or in wool,
With “This was last her fingers did,”
Industrious until
The thimble weighed too heavy,
The stitches stopped themselves,
And then ’t was put among the dust
Upon the closet shelves.
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Filed under: Death Poems and Poetry
IS Heaven a physician?
They say that He can heal;
But medicine posthumous
Is unavailable.
Is Heaven an exchequer?
They speak of what we owe;
But that negotiation
I ’m not a party to.
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Filed under: Death Poems and Poetry
SURGEONS must be very careful
When they take the knife!
Underneath their fine incisions
Stirs the culprit,—Life!
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Filed under: Death Poems and Poetry
Remember not the pathos of our plight
Or the tears of our too-youthful end.
Mourn us not, for we became a light,
Eden shining still through deathless night,
On all who first pure love would comprehend.
Judge us not, although we chose to die,
Undone by beauty such as few have known,
Love so perfect one could not reply
In words less meteoric than its own.
Each life must wend its way towards death and pain.
Though we died young, our story will remain.
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Filed under: Death Poems and Poetry