Later Poem by Ananta Madhavan

As we age, we don’t accept that we are old;
Our days may be numbered, but we have survived
This far. Who has fixed the number? Destiny
Cannot foretell what may happen tomorrow. Fate
Is a fallback excuse for futures grown obsolete.

Every day we visit a country called ‘Later’.
It has the same landscape as ‘Yesterday’;
But we still want to go there, O where?

Enough that we lasted long enough to wish
That the last day, last hour, comes a little later.
But in the process of postponing Death,
Let us not postpone Life itself. Life is Now,
This moment we cannot encompass in time.

Maybe it is a cloud whose shades of grey
Sieve sunlit dusk to fascinate the eyes;
A cloud, that moving with a wafting breeze,
Calls out to us as fellow travelers
Just for the durance, free of past and future.

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6 July 2015