Died in 2003

By Shruti Shah

a hushed graveyard.

appears a guard

on the damp gloomy grass.

turns the lonely sprinkler on.

blood rushes out of the holes,

perching  on the soil of the dead.

tree hugging clock,

wrapped in an elegant cloak,

bellows six;

angry at the Deados being jinx.

rule of the United States of Afterdeath one should know,

after six if you bow,

you’d be blamed by the monarch

for everything that happens in the dark.

scared tombstones give up,

and 

Deados crawl up.

drenched in regrets and guilts,

they have to aboard the train

waiting for them

in the Tunnel of Felonies.

seductive open showers

witness stripped bodies

of the departed.

as they bathe,

syringes filled with hope,

line up to scathe;

to scathe the already maimed.

in chic clothes they queue

to get what’s due;

hope.

hope is always’s one’s due.

our species always strive

to be worthwhile;

chic clothes it is.

Mr. Broken, deeply broken,

saw a heart vendor,

selling healed hearts with a token.

dumb he and the doable discount came close,

thus Mr.Broken missed the train to god’s abode.

rule of the United States of Afterdeath one should know,

if you miss the rail ferry

to the god ruled sky,

you’d have to return to your earth colony

no matter how hard you try.

some sadists reported

and Mr. Broken was on the verge of being deported.

thus was he brought

to the rotten fort

where justices are boycott;

so messed up.

there he vehemently defended,

but nobody’s heart melted.

begged he for his afterlife,

meloncholy floating quietly in his eyes.

uttered he that,

‘easier is life after death.

don’t tie me

to the struggles of breath.

dearth of happiness is on earth,

I swear I tried and tried

to be mesmerised by life

but she just doesn’t have the correct case to keep me alive.

so let me just stay here

in the shackles of fear,

or else I’ll never get to endure,

how much better fear is than cure’.

and Mr. Broken was deported.

he died;

died in few seconds,

being assaulted

by the world 

where he had landed

60 years before,

from a woman

who knew his soul.

such is the tale of Deados,

you and life can never be amigos.

By Shruti Shah