Last Day

 

 

 

That last day, I know, will come

when my sight of this earth shall be lost
and my life will take its leave in silence
drawing that curtain over my eyes.

Yet stars will watch at night

and morning rise as before with hours
heaving for the living like sea waves
casting up pleasures and pains.

As I think of this, the end of all my moments

the barriers break and I see, clearly, your world
in the light of my death where treasures are trivial
but rare gems are the simple seats, lowliest livings.

Let those things that I longed in vain

and things that I have hoarded in past pass;
but let me possess those possessions
I snubbed and slighted as significantly trivial.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 92

Henry Victor          19.11.2012