The Obituary

This is a rant, an absolute rant

They keep me failing,

As the water runs down,

May be,

Better I leave wailing ,

Or else, they will leave with a frown.

And they say ,

That the world is white , black or gray,

That depends on your calling,

But they leave me for the greener pastures ,

Huh!! I wonder,

Have I turned brown?

  

Tears take the place of words,

But they are to be dried even before they appear,

But the sound of words , has not vanished,

They have never had a sheath

They are buried beneath

Like the constant chirping of birds

And the chirpings

Are like the ghosts –constantly feared.

And then

The chirpings start ringing like death knell

I wish to commit homicide of my own soul

So, I peep inside the inner well

And I find

That the birds chirping are the vultures,

Gnawing away at my ailing soul

Which long time back was pure and whole.

Vultures make me wonder,

And they make me mortally afraid.

Feeds on the dead, the vulture,

So does that mean that me too, is dead ,so I wonder

But it may be a dream, or a slumber,

Reflections of the sound of the words, I think

But one vulture laughs loudly , yes he did,

When I tried to bite, pinch and blink.

He said

You feel this, so you are not dead,

You cannot get out of this, you are not on your bed

So it is no dream or any slumber,

We are feasting upon a soul ,

 Which was once yours own,

Before to your soul mate it started to wander

 It is dead now,

It was once part of your soul

But yours alone is still one and whole

But then

They rejoiced loud with a happy cry,

As if they had another feast

And then I realized it was why,

Coz in their log of feast

My own soul was written against the next number!!!!