Wanderer, death is at the door.
Everyday I breathe, because breath is in my nostrils.
Everyday I spin along with the earth's rolling frills.
Yesterday, today and tomorrow's game
All so different but much the same.
The path leads to Nod,
All for ignorance I follow the path Cain trod.
Seeing that life is as long as as soon as we die
I wander in Nod like a bird with nowhere to fly.
The Horizon is empty,
Time rolls by and I know not if my patience waits or wastes my piety
For everyday the clouds climb past the moor,
Sometimes laughing, others solemnly saying: 'Death is at the door'.
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Comments about this poem (Wanderer, death is at the door. by Oke Christopher )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
Harivansh Rai Bachchan
(27 November 1907 – 18 January 2003)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(9 November 1928 – 4 October 1974)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(August 19, 1902 – May 19, 1971)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
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