After the funeral, I was sent to heaven.
St. Peter stood at the gates.
“Welcome”, he said, “your sins are forgiven”,
“Go to the Chamber; Jesus waits”.

Jesus summoned me with boisterous mirth,
“How was your short time on Earth?”
“Fairly decent”, said I with a smile,
“Every moment was worthwhile.”

“Starting from the time of my birth,
I did plenty of things on Earth,
I studied hard, acquired a degree,
Got a job and made pots of money.”

Jesus shot me an unhappy stare,
And ordered me to take a chair,
Carefully he opened a slim file,
and scrutinized it for a while.

"You were given the ability to write,
To rhyme, to compose and recite,
You could have been a famous bard,
Like Shelly, Milton & Arthur Ward.
In the quest to earn bread & butter,
You poured your talent down the gutter.
A talented, young Indian Author,
preferred to undergo corporate slaughter.
Should I have written it on stone?
Man doesn't survive on bread alone?
Gifted with wit, spirit and foresight,
You were sent on Earth to write"

Shocked & aghast, I fell to my knees,
"Give me a chance, I beg you please"
"No", he said and refused to relent,
"You have an eternity to regret & repent".