The following poem may not be the best elegy, dirge and lament of all time. But it
comes from the heart, not of an individual but the lament from the heart of a society.
You say
He is dead !
He left us!
He passed away!
But …
At the rising sun and at its going down; he is there
At the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter; he is there
At the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring; he is there
At the blueness of the skies and in the warmth of summer; he is there
At the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of the autumn; he is there
At the beginning of the year and when it ends; he is there
Still you say
He is dead ?
He left us ?
He passed away ?
He..
Is not dead
Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
Has only slipped away into his world of fantasy
Nothing has happened.