MY
LAST REWARD
P. K. Joy
I am writing this letter from my grave
On the day you put me to rest
To thank you world for the reward you gave
For my sixty years’ work without rest.
You have given me a last bath, really quick and cold
Wrapped my body in garments that are torn and pretty old
Whiffed some cheap perfume that has offset the body stench
And brought for me a coffin that is short by more than an inch
Laid on the body a wreath on which your name has prominently shone
Appeared as if it was meant to make your big deed known.
On the path leading to the graveyard you have strewn some flower petals
And engaged undertaker’s van, a moving bundle of rusted noisy metals
A funeral service you read out from some book’s preprinted pages
And have paid the gravedigger the prescribed minimum wages.
The sigh of relief you let out as you left the gate of the graveyard
To search for my keys, surprisingly wasn’t the last part of the reward
Late in the day you observed in the office a three minutes’ silence
And even sent to my bereaved wife a letter with feigned condolence!
2
Oh men! You are thinking that you’ve fooled me with these doles
And that I had expected much more from you mean souls.
No, no, folks! I didn’t expect; what I say is true
For, real reward for all my service doesn’t come from you.
The biggest reward is my contentment that I’ve served you to my best
And to you my fellowmen I’ve always been sincere and honest
The Lord had mercifully bestowed on me the strength and will to work
And I’ve faithfully employed them to serve Him through you folk.
When He calls me to produce to Him my book of account to check
You don’t know but I know well how good my book will look!