POEM :
YOU HAVE UNREAD MESSAGES…
The messages keep coming in :
Nobody home…
To a new abode hath gone the poet…
New mails pile up
In the Inbox…
Computer servers enquire,
But get no responses…
The senders get intrigu’d :
What happen’d ?...
Why the silence ?
The regulations kick in :
After so many days of non-response,
You be archiv’d…
Then you be remov’d,
Delet’d…
You ne’er exist’d…
Your creations ?
Your writings ?
Your postings ?
Thrash’d…
All gone….
Like waves sweeping on the beach,
Disappearing shapes,
Melting all…
Your existence ?
Like the drawings on the beach….
Same fate…
Your falling snow was lovely,
But its time was short….
You left a void,
Your voice hath died down…
You be “the LATE….”
What a fate….
The human fate…
In the furnace,
The pitiless flames
Don’t mess around :
They know their job :
All be turn’d ashen…
Indeed, no need for a funeral pyre,
No need for the fuel :
The pile of boxes be enough…
Unknown books,
Litt’ring,
Gath’ring dust…
Fit for turning the creator
To ashes…
Fifty-seven books…
A lonely existence….
Heart-rending cries from some….
Fainting,
Collapsing…
But, too late…
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Soman Ragavan
16 May, 2025
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