Death can't ring a bell –
For men could never share its taste ;
'tis a dictation to sheer deaf –
Where age can't set a consent.

Death means appetite to not
Be here; the farthest to prayer,
Or soaring like internal words –
In unresolved rest, allied by air.

Death is the supreme synonym –
Of personal to ubiquitous end ;
'tis the cause we swung the quill,
Saw hourglass flip for every second.

Few though clings to untrodden !
In abyss of catastrophic well,
Gothic walls laved by moody monsoon
But earth's yet to bid farewell.

Death is the line of lame,
Toe from forehead – all disdained ;
But a myth – as next one is en route,
And a pause to events unattended !


© soumik299