Death

The door which we must cross one day
To enter the long promised realm.
Not the end of the beautiful journey,
Not even a brief intermission:
Simply a door we must open
To lands we are all yet to see.

We have sometime visited that land
In our dreams, past that curtained door:
A glimpse of the perfect golden sands
And the bluest skies imagined;
The bright stars that will never fade
And flowers no autumn winds can shake.

One fine day we will cross that door,
To start those old conversations:
The long walks on those winding roads
With those who have crossed before us
And waited for us all this while
To resume the incomplete journey.

Diptesh Ghosh