The applause may or may not come after: A poem 

You can’t tell me 

we live only once 

The immersion, the suspension of me; belied free 

to be the universe’s shady tree 

I know I am tinier than quarks and bosons 

but I am the humongous eternity’s patience 

There is nothing like: we reap what we sow 

There are treacherous laws wherever we go 

The wisdom in the bird cage is 

one may not get what one deserves 

It is just whose end is your reserve 

And, may be, we don’t even get what is meant 

Justice here is all skewed and bent 

Some powers that dictate are not God-sent 

They can determine what you rent 

Yes, I may have been the advent 

But I had to suffer, eternally, the lent 

Am I to decide that fate is my grave 

even if me, God, was made a slave? 

This is my sublime acceptance 

in my humility, to go the tortuous distance 

It is immaterial, if after the curtains are drawn down on the theatre, 

the applause may or may not come after