Meditation on Life

Meditation on Life 

 

I was dropped down to this mess

On the second day of June.

Since then, my soul has never confessed:

When will my self depart too soon?

I grew; the mess, one year slipped by.

With gentle care, my father would tend,

My sister’s laughter, a soft lullaby,

With mother and grandmother, my friends.

Days passed; I grew; sufferings kissed.

In a haunted way, my father flies

To taste the opportunities I missed,

To lick the nectar of death—a sigh.

Why was my conscience tired?

Why did I choose to seek bliss?

Yet I sip my loved ones as pure air,

Free to see, and free to wish.

Peace longs for my deaf soul with care.

I long to taste my father—heaved—

To be the sun with my body bare,

A naked figure my kin believed.

Burn! Until I become white ash, slipped,

And let the air float the remnants.

Promise I shall never forget your kiss

If you, my friends, allow me this grant.

When my enigmatic existence fades,

And tender skin begins to wrinkle,

The whispers of shadows will invade,

And the temple will silence the bell.

I would be gone forever in blissful sway;

My body might trigger my kin,

But as pure as air, I shall stay—

Yet will I falter, witnessing my sins?

What if God never breathes in heaven,

And we are trapped in nonsense glee?

No—yes—I neither know nor care;

What if He breathes eternally free?

What if Hell kisses my legs and burns,

Trapped in a golden cage, I shout long?

What if Heaven touches my soul to earn

And sings me soporific songs?

What if I meet my deity—my mother,

And my sister and father up high?

What if we never meet, drift too far,

To escape the tragic vibes?

Unique I am; I shall not come again;

As me, my mom—you would never, too.

We shall leave today or faint

And kiss until the sky turns blue.

To perish is not what people long for,

But death will come and claim.

To perish—nothing is ever sure,

Perish—I can’t stop saying names.

Why is “perish” such a heavy sound?

Perish! I can’t stop myself from thinking.

Why is "perish" licking my wounds?

Perish, perish, perish, perish, perish, perish—I sing!

About the Author: Suman Mondal is an English literature student at Rampurhat College, West Bengal, India. He is enthusiastic about spirituality and philosophy, keen on exploring the mysteries of existence and the reasons behind everything. He has been published multiple times in The Statesman, most recently in the 2024 festival issue.