Death be not proud

This thought has flitted past several times.
It's juz that i paid it scant notice.
Viewing it as nothing but mere vapours from bouts of mini-depressions.
I wondered, albeit for a little while,
How many people would actually shed a tear or two for me,
If i happened to die?
The fragility of life frightens me.
It appears with sudden clarity,
And then disappears,
Leaving me with a sense of loss and detachment.
As if this is not enough,
I would inevitably think of losing people who are dear and close.
And i would shudder and not think at all.
Indeed, it is so solemn and dreadful a thought,
That i'm refusing to acknowledge its existence.
At this age,
I'm not ready for deaths.
I'm not ready for grieving.
I'm not ready to lose anyone who matters.
The problem here is that i can do nothing about it.
Sometimes i pray,
For people i care about.
Other times,
I take them for granted,
Assuming they'll be always be standing right there,
With an encouraging word or warm smile.
The magnitude of Life and Death is too much,
So encompassing,
That i cant grasp its essence.
How often do we wonder,
What is it that we are here for?
How should we live?
What is the single most important thing in life?
I stutter,
I stall,
I'm silent,
For i have no answer.
I can give a hypothetical or theorical answer,
But it wouldnt matter,
Since i cant apply it to my own life.
I look back,
And note the changes in me,
How age and experience have shaped me,
Into what i am today.
I try to conjure images of the future,
To take a peek into its enigmatic riddles,
And i see only rosy hues.
Are they real? I asked.
Or am i seeing only what i want to see?
If life is short as the cliche goes,
Why am i wasting it?
Why am i letting it slip unhurriedly away?
How can we actually grasp it?
Again, i'm stumped.
*blank*
With sleepy eyes and a swirling mind,
I am incapable of further reflections,
For they turn in circles,
Perennially arriving at new conundrums,
Like a dog chasing its own tail.
I smiled wryly,
And think to myself,
I need sleep, for it invigourates and animates life.
Forget that its short and transient and ephemeral,
Just remember that from the moment we are born,
It has always been a struggle to stay alive,
And it's the struggles that defines and shapes life,
For if life is smooth and windless,
What do we live for?
Anyways,
A little poem to reflect further upon.
One of my personal favs.
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Death Be Not Proud
by John Donne
(1572-1631)

DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

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