Life Bitter Than Death Poem by Swapan Deep Singh

He had been walking on the pavement for an hour now;
It had been raining for an hour now.
But his face had already been wet;
Of tears of helplessness;
Of the burning tears of pain.
His face had been wrinkled;
Of grooves of agony;
Of the deep grooves of the wounds inflicted upon his heart.
But he still walked on away;
On the same path, he had walked each day.
Coz that was path where his house had been;
Where his sons hath played, where his kin had been.
But that was history now;
And nothing was left.
His sons had grown up.
The man now bereft;
Of his own house, his place;
His very own honour, his grace.
Coz his so called sons had thrown him away;
To live in despair, dejection and dismay.
And hence he walked on the way;
And missed not a single day;
To catch a glimpse of his own children;
His very own sons.
He taught them how to walk;
But was now, himself, without a stick.
He fed them with porridge,
But was now, himself, feeding on filth.
He told them how to speak;
But none now cared for his broken speechless teeth.
And he still walked in the storm;
On that cruel path that led to his house;
Alone, all alone;
Still wishing his selfish sons, a prosperous life.

Swapan
2006