POETRY

I don’t know exactly what life is

A hollow recurrence perhaps

But death is a decayed reminiscence

“Live as if you’ll die tomorrow”

This advice I took to heart all along

A precarious life I lived

Erratic behavior, whimsical in my thoughts

Unpredictable, nothing stable in my life

I lived to the fullest

And each day I wondered

Which tomorrow I would die.

Years passed, I grew older

My back curved and hearing loss

Urination in middle of the night

The golden years have arrived!

“If” in the phrase “Live as if you’ll die tomorrow.”

Was on the verge of deletion

Losing relevance to the text it once revived.

Divine retribution, the final revenge

The fang of death was nibbling on my life.

Haunted I was by a rasping instinct

That soon I would not be any more.

The horror of oblivion, the dread of nothingness

Morphed into an eerie allure, a mystic affinity

With death, my nemesis.

The ominous bird of my imagination

Soared in the dark realm of reverie

To touch the void, to see its nothingness

A vague rendition, a concept I could surmise.

I wrote about the abyss, mocked its shadow

Praised the mystery and scorned its malice

Yearn to discern its magic.

I delved into a trance

And death appeared to me

Then it was everywhere

To keep me company

I shared with death many anecdotes

And it revealed to me so many more.

Its tales I found gloomy yet,

Fascinating to hear, so captivated I was.

Oh! Death knows a lot

It has seen it all

Death is resourceful, crafty and shrewd

At times so merciless too

But in all fairness,

Not as awful as I thought.

It does have a sense of humor

That I don’t care for at all

Once it said and I quote “Life is perhaps, death is certain.”

The wisdom was profound

The tone and the smirk on its face turned me off.

Death has its own quirks

And a softer side one needs to realize.

Ironic yes, but death appreciates art

Although it knows well

One by creating will never die.

Based on our common instinct for survival

Death and I formed an alliance, a sordid affair.

According to our tacit accord

I don’t vilify death in my poetry and prose

In any way, shape or form

No cheap innuendoes, clichéd symbolism

No excessive whining or alamode noir

Not too much darkness on my canvas,

Gloomy birds in my art.

I show more respect to destiny,

To death, that’s coming about

Bottom line, I play along.

And in lieu of this courtesy

Death would let me live,

So long as I create art.

Contract is binding on one principal alone

To live forever or simply die!

The makeup of life however, the gist of living

The Pleasure and the pain sorrow and delight

Is only mine to decide.

I must admit

Death is bliss, an inspiration,

Since it gives a sense and a meaning

To my very life.

Saeed