He has been wheeled
Into  the morgue.
Last night- just as the autumn moon
Gave way to the night
He chose to die.

She lay beside him – with the child
Wrapped in moonkist love and hope.
Still the past woke him up?
Maybe he was always awake.
And now is sleeping in the morgue.

Did he really want to sleep like this?
Like a crushed rat with blood frothing in its mouth?
Hidden in darkness
Not to wake up ever again?

He will never be awake again
Will never have to bear the huge pain of life
- Not ever.
Thus spoke the silence
When the moon set –
Through the window in the strange darkness outside,
Cascading down  a camel’s neck.

Still the owl keeps its vigil
And the old toad begs for a few more seconds
Hoping to see another warm dawn.

In the flowing darkness
With nets fighting the onslaught of the buzzing bugs
The fly takes off from a puddle of pus and blood – into the sun.
The bugs fly patterns of life in the sun.

The caressing sky
Wraps around the torn lives.
A grasshopper flutters to fight a cruel death
In the callous hands of a boy.
After the moonbeams faded,
You went to the dark tree to die
When you knew that lives live apart.

But didn’t the tree say no to you?
Didn’t the fireflies lit up the flowers?
Didn’t the old owl say  
“ Has the old moon melted away in the grey water ?
Wonderful ! Let’s hunt now for a rat’s cadaver.” ?
Didn’t the owl give you the huge tidings?
And yet you left this throbbing life,
With its smell of ripe corn in an autumn ./

Is he at peace in the silent morgue?
With a trace of pink froth
On his lips like a rat’s crushed cadaver?
Still know this
This dead one did not  loose
Out on a lady’s love.
Nor locked in conjugal bliss, time stood still as he
Wrung out all the ******
Pleasures of life.
He did not shiver in the cold in life
Like a *****.

So
He lies now in the morgue
On his back on the cold slab
Yes I know
Her loving heart, child , home – mean little.
Its not the riches and the success,
But some other strange desire
Play in our blood-
And makes us tired
- So tired.
And its so peaceful in the morgue
So he lies on his back on the cold marble slab.

Still I see every night
The blind old owl perched high on  a tree
Blinks and hoots “has the old moon melted yet in the grey water?
- Wonderful ! let us now hunt for a  rat’s cadaver.”
Ye old lady of life, you are still a wonder as ever?
I shall get old with thee – send the ancient moon into the depth of grey water.
And two of us together shall empty the life’s huge coffer.