Inside The fierce gleam of the incinerator,
A hungry orange gobbling up
Every single morsel of life.
Outside The heartening glow of the sun,
A warm and hopeful orange
Setting with a promise for tomorrow.
Inside A room full of humans in various stages of grief—
Crestfallen cries, inconsolable howls, shadows of disbelief;
A duel with death no one can prepare for.
Outside An unhurried world watches with adjusted eyes,
The clouds gaze and graze away,
The river benevolently looks and flows past.
Inside A lifetime of amassed titles, riches, and might
Reduced to a shrunken corpse wrapped in white;
Death makes an ascetic out of all.
Outside The tree happily sheds its leaves,
The flowers forsake their beautiful bloom,
Nature surrenders in happy renunciation.
Inside The men at the crematorium
Sit around a table, laughing and chatting;
Death: a calloused pack of cards dealt daily.
Outside A flock of crows sit on a wire
And watch the ashes flow past,
Their watchful eyes focused on finding any signs of food.
Inside The cruel altar of Death,
Where life and death play a morbid relay,
As the pyre burns the last remains of life.
Outside The benign shrine of Life,
Where two pups grapple in a mock fight
Under the motherly gaze of a banyan tree.
Inside Rilke’s poem rings true:
“Before us great Death stands
Our fate held close within his quiet hands.”
Outside Donne’s poem reminds:
“Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;”
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