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DEATH'S IMPERIOUS RUN

So simple is death
So ready... So rife...
Yet goes it...
Simpler...Readier...Rifer... 
With great aplomb... With total ease...
By days, by hours, by jiffies...
By sophistication, by precision...

Will blush
The flaps of a flying bat,
The flicks of a spinning vane,
The jets of Victoria
At swiftness, sprays, and pops of death 
From guns, from drones...
From bugs, from thugs...
From floods, from fates...

 Death's manic run,
For imperial pride, has barged 
Into harbours of life, 
Has slither'd into life's hideouts...
Has razed life's barriers and forts...
Has reach'd life's extreme spots...

 The might perish, the right succumb.
The gods do fall, do fall the demons,
The kings, and the commons,
The foes, and the Samaritans...

 Victors, and 'so, victims,
The haves, and the paupers,
The all-powerful monsters...
All crush'd under the feet of Death...
Imperious it does run,
As its pandemic march tramples
Plains and terrains, Vales and cities,
Models and mimics, shelters and shrines
And mountains and seas...

 Marauder's frenzy stuns infallibly
With spitting fires of a thousand dragons,
With  tsunamic waves of the whole oceans,
With cyclonic winds of all Tropics,
With absolute quakes of grand Tectonics,
As confused life fights back 
No care, no laws, no prudence,
With self-destructive insolence,
Only to be swallowed by 
The conquest of Fatality--
The ultimate apocalyptic force
of Co-destructivity...
Of Genocides, Wars, Pollution...
Of Accidents, Terrorism, Corruption...
Of Caprice of Violence...
Of Drugs and  Diseases...
Of communal Bigots...
And of Mutual Disgusts...

 For psychotic humans' vile propensity,
For vainly nurturing mortal toxicity,
A pleasure hell now is the earth
Where joyride the ghastly agents of Death...

                                                         -- N P Samal



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