By Simran Goel
"When death finds me,
I hope it finds me alive"—
Not clinging to fears, not steeped in bribes,
Not pleading with saints, nor living contrive.
They toil, they pray, they chase, they fret,
Forgetting the sunrise they’ve yet to set.
Life whispers, "Dance, the hour is brief,"
But they trade the music for worry and grief.
How fortunate, to miss the fleeting light,
How tragic, for those trapped in endless night.
Not by their will, but the world’s cruel ties,
They smile in shadows, living soft-spoken lies.
Not strangers, but kin, lay the binding chains,
Their love is comfort, yet a source of pain.
Silent tears fall, as dreams dissolve,
Oceans reduced to ponds, no room to evolve.
Everywhere I turn, a shared despair,
Each story a mirror, a burden to bear.
We gaze at "better," yet fail to see,
The prison we build for our own misery.
So tell me, dear soul, what is the cost,
Of living a life where the self is lost?
Break the ties, let the wildness ignite,
For death should find us burning bright.
By Simran Goel
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