Before Death

We who have walked through the lonely straw fields on a Paush evening,

Have seen by the edge of the field, the soft river’s women scattering

Mist-like flowers; they seemed like girls from old villages—alas!

All of them. We who have seen how darkness fills with thorny bushes,

Fireflies, and jhunjhuni plants; where no crops grow, there

The moon quietly stands—no longing for harvest stirs within it.

We who have loved the long winter night in the dark,

Heard wings fluttering atop straw roofs in enchanted silence:

The scent of an ancient owl—it vanished again into the dark somewhere!

We understood that winter nights are unparalleled, brimming

With deep joy to float wings across fields; herons calling out

From branch to branch of the banyan tree.

We who have understood life’s subtle enchantments,

Who have seen wild geese evade hunters’ bullets,

Flying away into the humble blue moonlight at the horizon,

We who have gently placed our hands upon clusters of rice,

Returned home yearning like crows at dusk.

The smell of a child’s face, grass, sunlight, kingfishers, stars, the sky—

We who have found traces of these things turning around all year long.

We have seen green leaves turn yellow in the darkness of autumn,

Light and bulbuls playing at the window of a silk-cotton tree,

Mice coating their fur with grains like silk on cold winter nights,

Waves taking shape in the gray scent of rice twice a day,

Falling into the quiet eyes of solitary fish; ducks by the pond

Finding the scent of sleep in the twilight—the touch of tender hands soothing them.

Clouds shaped like minarets call golden kites to their windows,

Underneath betel creepers, sparrows’ eggs lie as if turned blue.

The river repeatedly smears its banks with the scent of soft water.

In deep night, shadows of straw roofs fall upon moonlit courtyards.

The scent of crickets carried by the wind—in Vaishakh’s meadows,

Green breezes bring thick sap descending with deep longing over saline soil.

We who have seen clusters of red fruits fallen under dense banyan trees,

Crowds of lonely fields reflected in the river’s depths.

All those blue skies remain, searching for even bluer skies beneath.

On paths, I’ve seen gentle eyes casting shadows over the earth.

We who have seen rows of Shupuri trees ushering in dusk every day,

Every dawn arriving simply, like green clusters of rice.

We who have understood after many days, months, seasons ended,

That daughter of the earth comes near, speaking in whispers of rivers in the dark.

We who have realized there is yet another light hidden

Within paths, fields, and crossings: gray twilight lingering in her body.

Releasing the hand of sight, that light becomes still.

The virgin bride of the earth drifts away, finding her faint incense-laden body there.

What more do we wish to understand before death? Ah, do we not know

That beside all crimson desires rises a wall-like face—

The gray visage of death? One day, dreams existed on this earth—gold existed—

Silent peace prevailed; perhaps some magician needed it.

What more do we need to understand?... Did I not hear birds chirping

When the sun faded? Did I not see crows flying away in the misty fields?

O fleeting soul, adrift between memory and oblivion,

What truths linger in the spaces between dusk and dawn?

You have walked the fields of solitude,

Felt the pulse of rivers flowing silently beneath starlit skies.

Yet, what remains when the last leaf falls,

When the final firefly fades into the void?

Perhaps the answer lies not in seeking, but in surrendering—

Letting go of the need to grasp, to hold, to possess.

For life itself is a river, ever-moving, ever-changing,

Carrying us forward whether we resist or yield.

Look now at the horizon, where earth meets sky—

A thin line separating existence from eternity.

Here, in this liminal space, miracles unfold:

Sunrise paints the world anew,

Sunset bids farewell with golden tears.

Each moment births infinity, each breath holds eternity.

Do you recall the scent of freshly cut grass,

The laughter of children echoing through village lanes?

These fragments of beauty are threads woven into the tapestry of being.

They remind us that life is both fragile and resilient,

A dance of light and shadow, joy and sorrow.

And yet, amidst the ephemeral, there is permanence—

Not in objects, but in essence.

The song of the cuckoo lingers in spring air,

The taste of rain remains on parched lips,

The warmth of a mother’s embrace lives forever in the heart.

Such moments transcend time, becoming eternal.

But tell me, traveler, what will you carry with you

When the final curtain falls?

Will it be regret for roads untaken,

Or gratitude for journeys completed?

Will you mourn the loss of youth,

Or celebrate the wisdom gained with age?

Death is not an end, but a threshold—

A doorway leading to realms unknown.

Just as rivers merge with oceans,

So too does the soul dissolve into infinity.

What fears can bind us when we realize

That we are already part of something greater than ourselves?

Imagine, then, crossing that threshold—

Leaving behind the familiar, stepping into mystery.

Will you meet ancestors waiting to guide you,

Or find yourself alone in boundless light?

Perhaps neither, perhaps both;

The truth eludes definition, defies comprehension.

Yet one thing is certain: love endures.

It flows through veins unseen, binds hearts unbroken.

Even in death, it remains—a beacon guiding us home.

For love is not confined to flesh and bone;

It transcends form, existing beyond the limits of mortality.

So let us live fully, love deeply, dream boldly,

Until the final hour arrives.

Let us cherish the ordinary, for it holds extraordinary grace.

Let us honor the earth, which sustains us,

And the sky, which inspires us.

Let us walk gently upon this sacred ground,

Leaving behind footprints of kindness, not destruction.

When the sun sets for the last time,

May we close our eyes with peace in our hearts.

May we leave behind a legacy of light,

So that others may follow in our footsteps,

Guided by the same eternal spark.

Thus, O wanderer, fear not the end—

For endings are merely beginnings in disguise.

Embrace the journey, savor the moments,

And trust that beyond the horizon,

A new dawn awaits, radiant and infinite.