When Death comes calling on you
And stand in the doorway
Waiting to collect you
Then you know it is time to close
The doors and windows that opened to the world
And switch off the lights
And go with Him
Across the windy space
To that place
So far, far way --
So far way
That you lose track of the way back
To the place you began.
The cushion-coffined carriage is soft.
The journey itself is swift
And so easy to sail
Leaving no trail as you go beyond
The horizon that dips
At the rim of a circle in the empty distance
Seen at the height of a plane
Roaring above the clouds,
Feeling nothing
Because there is nothing to feel.
The passage is blinding white
As the pure poles capped in ice.
Yet it is neither hot nor cold
And the passengers sit still, frozen,
Minding their own business,
Staring without seeing in numbed silence.
Because I was born
I drift along
And on the perennial ways of bygone days
I tend my spouse and sons.
Till time runs out
I keep sinning
Carrying nothing with me to the end
But memories of suffering.
- H. L. D. Mahindapala