How will it come?
Humming a song or flashing a blood splattered grin?
With a sudden fall, or the incredible thrill following
the penning of that final word?
Perhaps with the first trill of the early morning bird?
A slip in the washroom; on a cold day or hot?
Sitting by the lake, admiring the snowflakes?
Hoolahooping through life, or playing a fife,
may be merrily mouthing a mediocre rhyme
slicing through the strife?
Hush! Is that the gas leaking?
Someone’s anger peaking?
A banshee wailing or someone shrieking?
Let me rest for a while, come not now,
let me mop the sweat on my bow…brow, I mean
[oh, these damn typos!]
Let Death be just a typo; Let me go
Yes, till then, let me go with the flow.
While vacationing in the Alps or on a world cruise?
During a midnight tryst with a guitarist tending to his bruises.
When I am working on my breathing,
trying mind -soothing techniques to revitalize my life,
will I stop breathing then?
But at the moment, jauntily assured,
I breathe on blissfully, into another morn.
Hey, let me decide what to cook for dinner.
Oh come on, wipe that ghastly grin, I am no sinner.
Stealthily, on cat feet, come let us meet then, you and I
in sun- sheathed-spaces, when I am done with all the races.
Keeping pace, with the footfalls of snow,
showing exemplary equanimity and grace.
Till then, [when exactly?]
Let me play my role with flair and conviction.
Oh, Death, spare me your theatrics!
Let me tend to this crick in my neck.
What the heck! It pains!
Till the time, I am set free,
let me sink back into this domain of unfreedom.
Till then… [When exactly?]