Death is not only of the old
And the young too bold
It is not only the reserve of graves silent,
And bodies now still
There is a death that never dies
A death that only they who live on may die
It too is silent
It too is still
It too is of the old and bold
I die every day,
Thinking of what was,
What is,
And what will never be
I die every day,
When I through fading light,
See who I could be,
But cannot be
I die every day,
I stare down the faces of opportunities
And with shaky hands,
Cast them into the void of indifference!
I die every day,
That I to silence commit my thoughts
I die every day that I ‘live’
I die every day that I crumble to fear
A coward ought not be despised.
He who dies a thousand times
Suffers more than the brave who dies once
And yet I die every day