I hear those immortal voices of the stretch...
The immortal souls of the stretch.
Their inspiring voices even to the deaf is audible,
Their write-ups are unerasable,
And their deeds remain even to the blind visible.
As a result a positive effect is incredible.
Perhaps they feel they could have done better;
Even though their graves are shrouded in His tremendous blessings.
A promise that indeed is being fulfilled by Him.
I greeted: 'Hello to those souls endeared;
Dedicated to you so smile.
Smile! Smile! So smile...
Smile at that smile...
Glad tidings He welcomes the believers.
Multitude in their rewards and not the deceivers.'
On the other hand...
I heard terrible voices of the stretch,
Hopelessly howling for their dear lives.
I looked... left, right and centre
And saw them in that unbearable pain melting.
Bones crushed; flesh burnt by that scorching fire.
My body with its shaky legs paralysed;
Lame I became on the spot.
The stern chastisement of the infidels...
For a plethora of sins they committed.
This punishment, engineered by those pliant creatures,
Who neither say 'no' nor 'umm...'
To a command commanded by their Maker,
But execute it with its full-fledged execution.
Thus their bodies bled profusely, the affected.
And so it became fetid.
They wish they could have rewound time
To undo the misdeeds.
Sadly this is the end of their performance on stage.
No second chance for a gone soul caged,
Because this is what the perfected rigid law said on stage.
After a while I got 'good morning tap' on my back.
'Wake up... wake up... 'waaaaaake' up...,' someone chinwagged.
Then I realised that it was sleep and dream,
And not the real poetic justice day I thought.
Yet my key takeaways from that seemingly endless exultant cheerless fantasy say...
How selfish the world is I say drat!
How wicked is death I ask!
How ingrate is human I gasp!
How you become a rare story on their lips I hush!
Even your name can't be maintained when you become it.
But 'the deceased' or 'the corpse' is preferred
As if that initial name is festered.
Weird, weird, it is.
Mere shared, it is.
So this is the world for you ad hoc;
The reality for you let's talk and hug.
Our best is always not good enough, they say.
Let's get that straight ok
To discourage pride in our deeds for good.
