Being Alive... Poem by Diptesh Augustine Sarkar

At last

At a great age

I finally realise

whatever I put my soul to

is prone to rot

as if I were dumped into a rotting pot

and the magic touch of gold

which does happen even now

that everything I touch lits up

for a while

and unlike the same make-believe

the gold huddles off to rot

So much as at the end

there remains little

barring my soul

only too eager to catch up

with the rest

that I ever called mine...



So I learn to keep my all

in a casket

my love, my passions, perhaps even my God

with ember and lime

that they might burn

as do I

and together in close embrace

the pain might keep us

alive...