At my birth I died
A blank conscience blotted
A clean mind corrupted
Insightful eyes blinded
A cherubic soul charred
To fit in the cosmic novelty
A warm heart coldly frozen
By the filth that is the world.

My death will be my birth
An old heart imbuing mystery
The anxiety of unknown realms
A senile soul savouring rebirth
Slipping stealthily to comfort
Away from the murk of this day
Away from this hustle and bustle
My soul for renewal will drift
Readying itself for eternity
Sprucing itself for nirvana
A death yet a birth.

© chrispus kimaru