A poem by Terence Tuhinanshu, from Lifetime
My time has come, dear boy
The time for me to die.
And quick and fast
And long at last
Life has passed me by.
Die, I must.
Not of age, no.
Nor of hunger, thirst or sorrow.
But for my frustration.
Old I may be, yet still a man
With fading dreams, drowsy desires
A far out field sub-station.
I never was as expected.
All my deeds should-have’s than well-done.
But at the lowest last few moments of my life,
How am I worse than anybody else?
We all share the same fate,
Being instances of the same group.
Life is wasted on an old man
And death too, I suppose.
Old men have to die. It is their purpose.
Were it not been so, even death would pass us by.
For nobody wants an old man
With expired solutions but evergreen problems.
I have known many friends
And lost every one.
And I said to myself each time
With exceptions none
‘The most we can do is walk alone in the moonlight…’
Well, the moon has set.
The stars have left
And the sun shall never come.
Darkness lies behind me, and darkness lies before me.
I sense the Grim come reluctantly closer as I feel my way through.
And now I wonder, flattered,
If indeed my life is worth bothering the Reaper?