Deathbed

By Arnav Mall

The bird chirps, the hail starts to fall

The nest broken, the birds find no halls. 

The moonlight fades like a withering wail,

Joys recede like a disappearing trail. 

The trees cry for the fire is terrible, 

Roots burned off, might ones gone feeble. 

Small shrubs have passed into oblivion, 

Too dark and terrible a vision. 

The river is dried, waters have passed away, 

Mountains and snow have long lost their way,

The gaps are too deep, for the river to be seen, 

The silent hunches of the rabbit are lost forevermore. 

The folks at the city gates cry out in despair,

The well is dried, and so are the lives, 

No longer does the image of happiness remain, 

Folks are all too grim, all of it was truly in vain. 

And so I cry, for the burden is great, 

Birds have lost their homes, 

The trees destroyed and the lion moans,

I ponder in darkness of my grave, 

What is there that truly remains? 

The weight of burdens, the grief of loss,

The curse of knowledge, the wound of kindness. 

Shall the world see me and cry? 

Better that my deathbed may await me, 

Rather than listening to all their wry.

By Arnav Mall