A respite, an interlude
Is what it offers.
From this world so lethargic -
As languid as the swaying of the lonely swing,
And as somnolent as the Lotos-Eaters' island.
From zing, this world now seems shunned.

Walking for thousand years in the path of life,
This soul is jaded.
Repose is what it offers -
In an eternal tranquil world,
With execrable memories being faded.

But the forged dreams are now shattered,
Like a fragile house of cards.
Renouncing this world of fame,
This soul is now roaming in the dark grave.
The former prowess is now caged in the hands of tame.

Loathes and hollers were deluged on the lifeless vessel,
And the stream of sorrow is flowing like spring.
But this soul is crippled,
Impotent to wipe the marks of tears - Smeared on the beloved faces like string.

But this soul has parted with all suffering and fears,
The tears are shed in vain;
As this soul has parted from woes,
Away from the hands of woebegones and pain.

This soul has met its destiny,
To which all the souls are bound.
It is a door where you shall renounce -
The affairs so worldly;
Is is the land where no Lords reside,
And you fly beyond avarice -
Relinquishing your wealth, moolah, gold, and malice.

The incessant cycle of life concludes,
The final destination is met,
The inevitable fate always waits at the end of the path of life,
And it's name is death.