How long before you’re a dot on a page
In a book of ancient history,
How long before you are no more
Than a fading bit of a memory.

How long before the warmth within you
Freezes, and the leaves leave the trees,
How long till you’re, forever, still
With not a whiff of breeze.

If only this dreaded scenario
Were to get embedded in the mind,
We’d all be nicer, gentler, people
More caring and much more kind.

It’s the silly notion of eternity
A mirage, if you like,
That we translate to mean
(In a “lingo” all our own)
I’ll always ride my bike.

It’s no more than a “here and now”
A Play on the Stage of Life
Till, the curtain falls and we take a bow
To end the spectre of life-long strife

(The author is a prolific poet who has over 30 poetry books to his credit. He can be reached at ashoksawhny06@gmail.com/ www.ashoksawhny.com)