The Final Ride

And they said—
We all got to die one day;
Leave behind all the treasures we had earned,
And all the friends we had made.

You’d be lying peacefully in a wooden-box,
Clad in white; taken out for the final ride.
And everything would just become dust;
With your body, your vanity, prejudice and pride.

Foes too shall turn affable;
Shed some crocodile tears.
And people would speak of your glories,
Who had denounced you for years.

Then, you’d be gone in a while,
Like a paper boat floated from a bank.
Your memories would fade away too;
Lost like the ship, in the abysmal, that sank.

Who you were— no one would care;
You’d fade away like the setting sun, never to rise again.
What you had earned, what you had gained would never matter;
A smile at the death bed is what matters in the end.



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