Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Death

My pen, my weapon
…spewing words
Ink…like blood from a sliced vein
Gushing, drowning all semblance of shame
Words that cannot be withdrawn
Feelings that will not be denied
They are painted all across the skies…
In colors that will not fade
Painted in words…
They are all I have
And they come…
like a river in spate
And I die…very slowly
As my mind speeds by
One word at a time…
I die
As I let go of my soul…
One word at a time


...Anita

5 comments:

Nandu Chitnis said...

John Donne greatest words on Deat..

Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

A.I. said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
A.I. said...

Sequel...

Death, be not proud
be vain instead
for now on fire
is the fat
I couldn't burn
when I was alive

...Swati

Unknown said...

Very well written poem. Thank you.

Anita Iyer Narayan said...

Thanks, been a while since I wrote about anything but work