Immortality Poem by Shikhandin Shikhandin

Immortality is a figment
not of human imagination, but of human desire.
A very human weakness. It is alright
to seek immortality. Who will mourn you when
you have turned to earth depends
upon the dreams you left behind. Human desire
feeds on dreams. Human will builds
itself on the bones of human deeds,
however small. Where you kind? A good husband or wife?
These small things are more permanent
than photographs. Did you teach your children
to hope higher, to reach beyond, even if it made
the difference of a mere inch, or less? What stories
can the words of your everyday life foretell?
Who can say where immortality lies in wait
and for whom? The answers are embedded
in the smallest of things. Go there
simply because it is there. And take your heart
with you, for that is the only part
of you that will become the clay from which your
children and theirs after them or
your friends and neighbours and their children after them,
will fashion an immortal likeness of you. The blood moon
we watched together from different parts of this earth
stilled time and condensed space. Some
gifts blossom in their own time and cannot be
unwrapped at will. Riptides
too have expiry dates and earthquakes do
finally subside. Abysses close. Mountains erode.
What remains eternal lies in the final
settlement. And that rests
in your own fragile hands. Don't drop them.

(First published in The Linnet's Wings, UK)