Mahanand Sharma

Why fear the storm?

The storm is lashing tres so firm and old.
The oak and rooted deep, the peepal tree
Which stood a thousand winters’ biting cold
Cannot resist its deadly killing spree.

The lofty towers which pierce the highest cloud
And have been standing, budging not for years,
The welkin – kissing’ crappers old yet proud
Must bow to storm at last by wear and tear.

Among the withering trees, decaying towers,
A tower decaying, a withering tree, I stand.
I tremble when I think the stormy power,
Along with them, myself shall also end.

Why fear the storm, the death? The death
Shall end our fear of final loss of breath.