Death Of A Priest Poem by MOLOY BHATTACHARYA

The doctor nods, 'yes'
'Our priest is no more'.
He dies a painless death,
An escape from begging life,
Hardly a life it was!
He is relieved now
From his mundane duty.
He is taken so early,
Even the Gods got hurt
And called their son
Who served for twenty years
To the idols twice a day
Throttling dreams of his life.

He lived his life
Praying for others,
Like a preacher
Of his religion,
And a perfomer
Of rites and rituals,
In special occasion
Or Wedding ceremony,
He excused no alibi
To respite from drudgery.
He gasped and panted
To attend hundred households,
And pray for their fortune.
Often he ran to beat the time
Like a truant child
From one house to another.
Nobody offered a drink,
Nobody asked for rest,
He served with no return,
None praised for his job,
For his entire life
He uttered Sanskrit mantras
To worship the deities
And finally retires and sleeps
In peace and serenity.