Skip to main content

An Admonition to Death


Does it scare you now, when you look down at us?
For even at night,
We keep the passion of the sun alive.
Specks of yellow illuminate the dark earth.
A metaphor to life. 
Raging. 
Thriving life.

Like molten fluid shrinking into cold lifeless rock.
The universe is your eternal day.
And our eternal night.
A curse of slow death.

Your curse.
Go in vain, shall your effort,
For we are creatures of light,
Keeping the flame of life ablaze and bright.

For every fire of the breathing soul,
A dot of yellow orange and white,
Rages with a fiery fervour,
Against the smothering winds of entropy.

We are creatures of light,
In a lonely and dark world.
But through colder winds of the nights,
And the curse of this universe,
I assure you.

The swathes of yellow and white,
Will only grow brighter and stronger,
Till the blood of darkness,
Drenches my mortal hands.
Till it pierces your eyes.

You may be our demons,
But we are thy saviours.
For without our purpose of defiance,
Turn wintry and barren, will your eternal day.

Thus sayeth the lords to death herself,
"Do not go gentle into that good night."
Nor in the face of death nor dark,
Succumb to hopelessness, I shall,
Rage. 
Rage against the dying of the light.

And so as creatures of light.
We are, 
With glorious purpose,
To persevere till every dawn till eternity.

So show me your darkest nights,
And I will make my stand.

- P.S

Credit: Nasa
(Track: Time from Inception, Hans Zimmer)

Comments

Popular Posts

An Ode to Rain

  An Ode to Rain “So what’s your favourite time of the year?” she asked, swinging a crossed foot lazily in the air, as she swirled a stirrer in a tiny cup of hot chocolate. Perhaps the time when I used to lick melted drops of vanilla from the back of my hand? blind to the fact that I was painting a modern art piece on the pavement with ice cream. What a charming memory.  Summer, I should say.  What about the little shivers my feet do, tucked away in the layers of heavy blankets, while my nose and ears complain of the biting cold to my toes.   Hot soups, lazy mornings, clouds from the mouth when I speak and hoodies with cosy pockets to slide my hands into.  Winter beats summer, surely.  To be fair, I was born in spring, the perfect gradient from the cold seasons to hot summers. Just the right temperature, reasonably humid with a drizzle of rain here and there. It had never been dramatic enough to create a lasting memory of itself though. Glancing out the cafe’s window to an overcast sky

Mayfly Philosophy

One humid night outside my front door, I was sitting in boredom waiting for the sun to go down so I could maybe catch the twilight dusk. The sky turned dark pretty fast that day and it wasn't nearly as impressive as the day before. Flies started buzzing all around and to my surprise, were suddenly gone. In intrigue, I looked up. Turned out, the light above the door frame had been turned on. Like a pilgrimage, little bugs from all around flew right up to it and made tapping sounds at the glass casing. At first I felt pitiful. For these tiny beings could only have so much energy and were wasting it for no reason. Almost like they wanted to break into the bulb and touch the filament, they battered their heads on the glass repeatedly. Fluttering their little wings with all their might. It was indeed pitiful to watch. Still is, whenever I see them. Near bulbs, tube lights, signboards or open fires. “How could one of nature’s creations be so flawed?” I thought. Moreover, it wasn’t like m

My Notes-app Up For Auction

It’s a late night with Alex Turner on full blast in my ears, never on the speakers though.  To make others around feel the full weight of unsolicited emotion of music, feels wrong. Who am I kidding, perhaps they don’t feel a thing. How rude. The flair of words seems to have abandoned me today so it’ll be bare bones. I find myself constantly backspacing the words I type with a vigour. A quickly written sentence followed by a slight pause full of fear, before my finger reaches out to the delete button on the far right. Desperately trying to put the tarp back on naked emotions uncovered bare. No more backspacing though. I’ve even gotten rid of the Grammarly extension. It shows me how a sentence rephrased, sounds more assertive but I digress. Enough fine tuning. Times like these I wish I had a typewriter. Imagine a canvas pedestal with hands, pointing to the parts where the acrylic paints fail to smudge. No one would ever pick up a paintbrush. Okay, enough rambling. This would have been be