Death, Where Is Your Anchor? Poem by Anand Brown

You appear suddenly to grab
Productive souls that adorned this world with goodness.
Like a proficient thief you strike!

You stay perched on the branches of time, waiting quietly
As it ticks by silently. You make us empty, you fill us with pain.
You test our strength.

You proudly display your works with deep cries of despair
And buses brimming with mourners passing slowly through
Crowded streets, like a snake slithering over rocky terrain.

You are not slave to time, but a slave you are!
Commanded to labour and fill the Big Church.
Soon you will sit on the branches of time no more.
Death, you too will die.