My pennyworth of paperback lies exhausted,
The yellowing pages a constant reminder-
Age…Time…my drying wells of inspiration,
My dying springs of creativity,
My listless pen scratching in reluctance…
My withering eyes see my demise.
I am the last warrior in this horrid world,
I am Prometheus, I am Moses, I am Rama-
And today I die.
Will you cry?
 
Within me I carry a fire,
A bright burning fire-
Hot like the flames of Hell,
Bright like the solar frays,
Indomitable like the toddler’s faltering steps,
Persistent like the rejected lover.
I carry the bright burning fire within,
I burn in its flame.
I sigh, I pine, I cry.
Drowning in their death fangs
I see the world like in a shoddy mirror.
I am Faustus.
And today I die.
Will you cry?

Like one destined to win a crown,
Like one destined to snatch a jewel,
Like one destined to die before winning,
I have come.
I came, I saw and I failed to conquer.
Destiny,
Thy name’s frailty.
You have belied your promise,
You have deceived.
For you today I die.
Will you cry? 

Today the ink shall dry,
The pages exhaust,
The fires shall run cold,
And I shall find Helen.
The thousand ships shall lie vanquished,
And destiny lie raped.
I shall see myself alive again
After I die.
Will you still cry? 

28 December 2001, Calcutta 700063