The Final Hour Poem by Sasanka Sekhar Panda

Man is sucked up by
every drop of blood
in the arena of
his own follies,
the remaining part
of life,
loosing all identities,
inflict agonising pains,
tormenting him
every moment left,
memories haunt
at every step,
making life
a mass of
conflicting thoughts,
dilemma, frustrations
and despair.
Mauled and annihilated
by time, ultimately
the final hour arrives
taking him to the pyre,
empty handed,
forcing him to feel
the embrace of
the burning blaze,
turning his still body
into ashes, only the ashes.