The Inflexible

If I told you will die soon,
next month or maybe a few more moons

would you still pout and post
or would you simply smile a little more

What would you do if I said, “you are about to die”,
disease, fatal wound or you pick a reason why,
Would you still stick to your schedule of lifeless repetition
and binge on soaps on your PC or television,

Will every morning be the same
hung over from last night, looking to survive the day again

Or would you break free of webs and bonds
from both, the time to come and the time long gone

and breath in the current moment, the present breath
and for once be free, of doubts and meaningless debts

would you still live as someone as good as dead
Or would you finally wake up from all this,
from dreams of comfort and an ignorance so bliss.

Then find blossoming, just as a Christmas rose,
buried in layers of ignorance, pretense, like snow
a gratitude, a love , a longing for life
only someone dying could know
And then water these feelings in others
for whom death still remains at best
a distant, inevitable guest
who’d uninvited, yet certainly, visit them too

But why do we need to know the time
the year, the month and the style

to know that we are, as it is going to die
sooner or later, we don’t get to decide

But we do decide and make up or mind
on how we spend our borrowed time

we could rush towards the end, proud and blind
burn out rather than fade away, we decide
as these feel like the only two options in sight

or we could master the art of living,
and shine bright, eternal, a guiding light
and paint for ourselves and others, a beautiful life.


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