The dead
Walking amidst graves, the barren trees symbolic. Bare branches, like soulless bodies. Its so chilly, a sky that blots light. Clutching on tighter to my sweater, I move deeper into the dead. I would feel cold here, even in summer. This immense quiet. So many, beneath this earth. Even if they could talk, I would not be able to hear. Where will my place be amongst them. Where will I lain, in numbing nothingness. Will I feel someone’s presence as they might feel mine. Will I hear footsteps walking over my grave
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1 comments:
superb one yaar! As Sanaa told me yesterday, some of your writings are "Deep".. LoL.. this one categorizes in one of those too!
It's funny how most people love the dead, once you're dead your made for life...!
When I was a boy, the Dead Sea was only sick. See how famous it is now!
So am kinda looking forward to it!! :P
one of my favourite poems frm school days is "Death Be Not Proud" by John Donne.. just thought of sharing it with you...
DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
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.
:-D
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