Death does not deliver quickly,
She prevaricates and hedges;
Nature is made to wait
And Death is no different.
She delays the abrogating colours;
A solitary cat’s tail flicks at midges,
A pregnant pigeon’s on the fence,
Both as patient as fishermen
On the paths of the Nar and the Thet.
She contemplates the fabric,
Chess Grand Master, always
Gets her way to play in black,
She paused the chess clock
Which I had mistakenly started
And the glass of the faces cracked.
My constant companion, she has
My back covered like a doleful guard
Who unashamedly doubly
Crashed my car, and then the ambulance.
We have nothing much in common
Except persistence, so tiring,
And procrastination, she’s hiring.
I told her: ‘I am a Capricorn, like you’,
With the thorns of a goat in my toenails.
As far as Death is concerned
There is no Time, no need for devices;
Who needs work when a scythe’s enough
For slowly felling and dicing.
This is my Fate distended,
To live like an abeyant
Abberation of Meditations.
She’ll get there, in the end.