Last days knocking at my gate

Poem of the week: Poem by Paul Bailey (after guardian)

           Last days knocking at my gate

         There  the birthday cake

          Not the time to talk of endings;

          Some more days to go,

         Some more time to be spent

         Too premature to  think about Death.

        Busy running about in schools

        carrying piles of books and drawings,

        skipping lunch and lending  hand

        to hunch and handicapped, visually impaired,

        That was not a time to think of death.

       As a ward boy, hearing wails, cries of babies,

       still born cast aside, back yards being mounded,

       eyesore to see countless come and go

       treated and turned down, dogs sniff  and go,

       that was not the time to think of death; 

       serendipity and surgery, surplus,

      and paucity, quagmire and   wanting

       quietude, all throughout like pits

      and pitfalls struck, still knocking,

      but when age  and debility strikes,

        fear of death captures my

        every moment of living ;

         This is the moment of time

        to think of death and rebirth,

         also of rejuvenation.