Spilling blood into the bosom of the seas,
Anchored into drowning, holding its breath,
Melts slowly into an ocean of disease.
If the Sun cannot escape this cycle of death:
Kaleidoscope of Nature’s murders,
Say how do I live knowing I would someday
Heave myself in fits and shudders
Yawping and pleading to Death to let me stay?
Answer in earnest, what you think of the Sun,
Mirrored in the waters, when the day is done.
Either you perceive a moment inspired,
Heart-filling with touches of warmth, or
Expiring, notwithstanding the soul full fired,
Rested in darkness: a corpse to be sorry for.
Originally shared privately with a friend in the summer of 2011
Minakhi Misra 