I wonder whether it was a dream or a forecast message!
A journey where it gleamed the keen aged passage,
Appeared on the right swathe with blessings – the heaven,
On the left – the silhouetted hell that threats like a raven;
In my front, stands with a murk glare, with a garland; angel of death.
I could remember the toilsome exertion of sowing the bed of seed
Where the rain, the season had left without any proper heed;
Though sprouts sprang out from that had been planted with zeal,
No flower bloomed, no fruits bore, not more a remedy to heal.
The enslaved, vigilant angle eager to learn the parts been done
“Time flew, your oomph slackened, a bow the back-bone gone
What’s stored! Whether still is it possible to stay awake in prayer?
Or will you like to be left with pleasure and rest at the bower?
Does not matter, my my works will let you free; let you wear my wreath.”
Rex Islam
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-treatise-from-the-angel/
