Disha Shree

February 3, 2007- India
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The Mist Of Death

Count the times your soul smiles,
Reached so invisibly, yet tangibly and touched.
And death being the end of the chapter, dear,
Mourn not the passing of life, yet celebrate.
And yet again, the body prepares to return to the soil,
The spirit watching over you, living in my heart.
It will definitely bring sadness as you transform to this,
New way of connecting, yet this is part of living.

And yet again, this death isn't kind,
It snatched where it could,
The bad, and the good.
It doesn't pretend to care, doesn't distinguish.
And you won't find death intriguing,
Once you feel it in your veins,
'Cause you just learn to live and die,
Over and over again.

You'll meet the robed skeleton holding a scythe,
Sending some to heaven, some to hell,
But instead, it didn't happen like they said,
Cold tendrils embracing me like a lover,
Fading vision, and my bloodied lips letting loose a last breath,
Just floating, being a part of the world, or the stars instead?

And till date, death stalks each valley,
Leaving no abode empty, his words unsaid,
Lurking in the darkness, just here and there, here and there,
Tormentor of the corpses that lay under the very earth we walk upon,
Just waiting for the corpses to reincarnate, us to be dead,
Angel Of Death kissing us away to the darkness, with love, and with care.
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