Author: Rishita Neema, Class XI D
A withering man with a final breath,
Wished for a later meeting with death
For he hath things left to see on this side,
True bliss he was yet to find.
The old one, as a young lad,
Knew not the worth of joys he already had
So he sought to collect heaping piles of riches,
And washed away the prosperity he had at hand.
With his final breath, he thought of mortal regrets,
What man strives for and what he gets,
A serenity made uneternal for desires with more grandeur,
In sleepwalking through slippery roads, he bought gold that corrodes.
Praying dearly there was more to life,
Than having to face this final strife,
As his figure floats away to wake in another, he can only ponder,
How many such aimless souls this earth do wander.
