MEMENTOMORI

A. R. Narayanan

While I was scooping up the wealth I secur’d

Through every means open, evil and good,

With haste, frenzy and all the anxiety,

Though it was not life’s absolute necessity,

To taste the utmost of world’s luxury

And to build a fabulous treasury,

Many a man on earth could not have dreamt

Nor anyone would ever make an attempt.

Blood and flesh, nor kith and kin, nothing stood

In my way to the riches, at jet speed

None did dare to come near me, lest not atop.

Did let me, take off, and always feel atop.

Until one day I was posed a question

By whom I thought a heap of superstition,

A humpty dumpty guy, draped in saffron,

Counting rosaries and caring for none:

“Will all the estates you have bought over

Remain yours whence from earth you pass over?”

My speeding pursuit, caught under its spell

Slowed, paused to ponder; at toll of the knell

Have to leave, losing all and my body

Behind, while somebody to grab it gets ready

All I owned ceases to be mine on death;

Because the dead can’t own here an inch of earth.

Futile is one’s efforts to earn more

Than what is needed for this life’s limited score

Henceforth my coffers were opened for charity

Covered by veil of anonymity.

Message of Bhagvat Gita having imbibed

I did not like my name on plaque inscribed.

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