Refusing To Die

Old, wrinkled, broken he lies,

Screaming for me to come to his side;

His decay filling the house with stink,

Rotting flesh, wounds scabbed and dried.

 

Ugly the more, because beautiful once,

The hideous creatures gives me no peace;

The click-clack of his rheumy joints,

A constant background score of unease.

 

Starved, unfed, uncared, still living,

Whining of a love given no more;

Reminding me of shared happiness,

Of how I once pampered and adored.

 

His shrill cries pursue my daily chores,

His hisses permeate my nightly rest;

His desperate, unyielding will to survive,

Daily hammers at the walls of my breast.

 

In the attic of my mind he continues to lie,

This dream that simply refuses to die.

I have always been a great believer. I've flitted from one belief to another, from religion to atheism and from one philosophy to another, until I finally settled on J. Krishnamurti whose philosophy is that there is no philosophy. So now I firmly believe that there is nothing to believe. Now such a belief would, I believe, have been considered dangerous to society if the authorities had believed me to be of any consequence. No man of consequence they believe would waste his time on the pursuit of blogging!

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4 comments on “Refusing To Die
  1. Antemundane says:

    Well written🙂

  2. SamZza says:

    I am sure your dreams will come ALIVE !!

  3. Lovely, Ruma, although it seems the wrong word to use….

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