'Is death like this? ' I wondered,
Waking up in the dark.
The window sieved no starlight,
Nor my eyelids dream-light.
I groped to clutch
The slender-stemmed lamp;
I groped to grasp
My all too solid Self,
Which must be there, I said,
Fighting my dispersal.
I remembered a tight cloud,
Anchored to a calm sky,
Motionless for an hour and then,
Diffused to naught in seconds.
Death may be like this, I mused,
But I shall wake up again.
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Comments about this poem (Mortal Intimations by Ananta Madhavan )
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