MOMENTS OF TRUTH  AND  MONUMENTS OF WEALTH.                               

We are, human beings once born , all destined to die one day,                                                                                                                                                                                          The reality oft dawns rather late, when we cross half the way,                                                                                                                                                                                              Half way, we  never know when or where, leaving us to guess,                                                                                                                                                                    Till the Death, engulfing from nowhere and leaving us nonplus.

These are the days of pandemic virus around us and in pursuit,                                                                                                                                                                                         Life is unsure, who will succumb next, in a state of fear of exit,                                                                                                                                                                   World feeling the tip of  Sword of Damocles in panic, anyway,                                                                                                                                                                                        The Demon of death, attending the calls punctually every day

.

 Young man in thirties, all sick with fever and  death imminent,                                                                                                                                                                                                                              Halo zoomed before him ordering to follow the next moment,                                                                                                                                                                                        Failing eyesight and darkness around amidst the central glow,                                                                                                                                                                                        An unseen figure with a briefcase in hand marauding the show.

‘’Come on ” thy sojourn here is over, in husky tone, its thy turn,                                                                                                                                                                                                 “Too soon’’, I haven’t finished my plans  my turn, why a return?                                                                                                                                                                                          Then why you carry the briefcase, are they my belongings, dear,                                                                                                                                                                  Lips of the dying man trembled in  disbelief and  imminent fear,

  Its yours! I carry it for you, obey me and simply follow my path,                                                                                                                                                                   With unabated fear, dying  lips queried, his clothes and wealth?                                                                                                                                                                             Nay, the dress and dollars, thy yearned all belonged to the earth,                                                                                                                                                                         Thy tenure is over, such earthly pleasures not carried in stealth.

Then, what’s up there? are they my memories or my  real talents                                                                                                                                                                            Never my son, memories are products of time, not thy creations,  

 Circumstances dig up , unearth thy talents to create expectations,

‘’May be all my friends and family’’, following me in revelation.

Friends and family  too, never are  born with, you , come  midway,                                                                                                                                                          ‘’Travelling long, any one picks many special pebbles’’ on the way,                                                                                                                          

 ‘’They are my wife and  my children’’, the dying man  in dismay,                                                                                                                                                                                   ‘’They are in thy hearts’’, I cannot carry thy products of  gay.

 The dead man was perplexed, the Demon moved on, unperturbed,                                                                                                                                                                                   So it must be my body you are carrying, since I am already dead,                                                                                                                                                                                     Yes, you are dead, but by now you must have bitten the dust,                                                                                                                                                                              Then, no need to carry you, leave thy thoughts and look ahead.

But, answer my last query, is it my soul, that carry all the way.                                                                                                                                                                                        Thy soul belongs to me only, answering without much delay,                                                                                                                                                                                 “Let me see what’s inside”, the dead man opening the briefcase,                                                                                                                                                                                       It was empty, tears in roll, he weakly asked and waited in pause.

Did I own nothing?, Yes, Demon replied curtly, thy had nothing,                                                                                                                                                                                      Then, all these years I had on earth, asked the dead, had anything?                                                                                                                                                                               Yes, you had Moments, you enjoyed  with them, not for nothing,                                                                                                                                                                                  So, live in the present, enjoy thy moments, leave, without a string