A muse on the past and future

Many who loved me are dead.

Many who I loved are dead.

Some who were dear and some

Who held me dear, elsewhere had gone.

I am pretty old, up with regrets.

I have an heir, who has no heir.

Who will leave first, wife or I?

How will the other digest that?

The connection made, collection stored,

And the recollection, what will happen to?

What is in store to suffer?

How big, how long, will it be

 for my limbs and heart?

A game is over; the mirth is over.

A hell or a heaven is the end of the game.

Heaven and hell are same

As the liberated soul has no sense.

13.03.2001