Inspired by the poem of James Schuyler, Hymn to Life, I present to you the world of death as a perspective. You may agree, you may not, you may like it, you may not. Your perspective.
As I have woken up, not really in my bed this morning.
My body is lying here but I am not anymore,
the preach is heard through my ears (not mine now)
To my soul. Cries of wounds: the death of their dear one
I do not care. Care has gone with the body. I am not
Allowed to feel the agony, not a single thing. Just a
Restless pea-body roaming around for remorse,
I have things left to do. They say, because not
Able to go there, where the dead are meant to be.
Things like marriage, love, association, crushes,
Babies, Birth and more Birth. Birth, No I do not wish
To give to any. My eyes flutter through the children
Throwing the parents out of the house. Yes, I am scared
To see myself there. This is not scarier than that. Better.
Dissociate from everything which was not mine, or
Was it someday? I have screams to shout and pains
To pout out. There are blues and greys colliding
Tinting out to the black of remorse, I have not wished
For the same. Freckles on my body fade out,
Body really does seem to turn out of blue.
A smile has appeared on the not so the face of mine. I bet
They haven’t seen it for longing years. Why would they
Wish to? They do not come to me, they never do,
I do not smile at people who do not smile at me. For once,
when I give a little smile to a young lady walking past
She turns away throwing a grunt. Never do that again anymore.
This smile is painful now. There are no wishes left to do the same,
Oh! Look at them crying. I laugh. Laugh at the fake drops of
Errands rushing down the pale orange. I sit on the airy bench
Waiting for my turn to arrive. Here between the hell and paradise,
It seems like glitches and earthy. I hate. Need to cave out
Of the earthly dwellings. Yet, some work left- undone.
I look out for my best friend, trying to find the soul
which I do not know what looks like yet finding.
They say death is pain, but they say and they say
They keep saying but nothing makes nothing better.
The silhouette charisma blinds me. I do not wish to
Return down there. Where fulcrums grow and
Die out leaving one in pain. In a real pain. Sorrow.
No one realizes sorrow, it’s when cats die and so do dogs,
It’s when your legs don’t work and the children don’t help.
I wipe tears of sorrow of others. None to wipe mine. I am in
A mime. Sometimes I used to bake a cake,
Soft spongy full of chocolates and sweetness
My mom is very sweet, just like the sweets
I see her insight, hugging my photograph.
God is calling me and here goes the conversation with him/her,
He is nothing but he is everything, the light and the dark
There is no paradise, no hell
Just peace adhere.
Cry in my eyes and he fiddles my soul, He wishes to send me back down
“I wish to be just with ma,” I say and look into his eyes
He smiles I do not feel what he means
And Just like Springy-Autumn. The leaves are
falling and sprouting out every minute. He has to keep a count.
There is a dearth of food, love, money, death on earth. There
Is nothing there as well yet one wishes to stay just there
For maybe a few more minutes to pledge the
Love of life, when one dies the love of someone else.
I smile. Save a mile, maybe. Burn like the flames
Of the forest in London, they screamed and burnt. We just
Pretend to feel for them. We do not. All the liars
just like the little kids who stole the erasers and said to
their mothers “They are mine!” Never. A brush a red rose
I remember the softness is the essence of heavenly torture
When further slides, cuts a bruise. There are waters of peace, cure,
Love up here as well. Very few people (maybe called souls) dip
Into them. Place just as cozy as the soft quilt blankets
Maybe furs work as well. I don’t know.
Everything is not so dim, I have to close my eyes
once again. To be alive. I do not wish to.
You can read all my poems here.