Death

By T. Pratiksha Reddy

Death is a mad scientist

Celebrating his success

Of epidemics and pandemics

Like the influenza in the 1900s

Ebola in the 2000s

The yellow fever in the 1700s

All killing millions of thousands.

Death is a visionary

Gazing at the earth

With a little twinkle in his eyes.

He admires the possibilities

Of what terrestrial trembles could do,

Of how big a land could a furious ocean take,

Of how many houses could a cyclone disrupt,

Indestructible ideas to keep lives at stake.

Death is a self righteous weeper

Claiming to claim trillions of souls

For an unknown ulterior reason.

He grieves over a child

For falling into his dark Pit

And stands sober over the grave

Of a life he didn’t find fit.

Death is also a friend, a carer

Relieving you off your pain

And of the suffering of the living.

He gently looks into your eyes

Cracked lips curled at its tips

He holds your fragile hand

Letting u go with a last tender kiss.

He is an omnipotent mystery

Known for his pride, feared for his wrath

An unpredictable entity

He is superior of all life, he is Death.

By T. Pratiksha Reddy