Memories, amity, links through previous births,
Wealth, desires, charity, deliverance from worldly bonds,
And all, are illusory and desultory delights
Of the unknowing mind, lacking wisdom in its hold.
Only one thing remains as eternal and ingenuously true.
DEATH, and its reflections; the ensuing grief.
In the unexpected wounds inflicted in the soul,
Every step becomes warfare, like a ‘*Kurukshethra’
In the mind, and each moment, a Good Friday.
From a mysterious void, emanate the life
With different faces and shapes, most unusual,
And extra ordinary, very much divergent,
Strange and unique, unrivalled and idiosyncratic
Entity; vivid, vivacious, and radiant
Incomparable incarnations of intrinsic worth!
For this entity called “you” or “me”, death is
The end of our world; we become naught!
When the metamorphosis through death turns me into ashes
Do you know what makes me intrepid in that state?
Your look, your tinge, your voice, the fragrance
Embracing your body, ever blooming glow
Embellishing your loveliness, your weariness, your tear drops,
And the purity gleaming in your face, in prayer!
* Kurukshethra is the battle fought between the Pandavas and the Kouravas,in the epic