Life walks uneven —
a road carved by chance and choice,
where some dine on gold,
and others on dust.
But Death —
ah, Death is the quiet evening
that forgets no name,
that knocks on every door
without fear or favor.
It does not ask
if you were kind or cruel,
rich or broken,
it simply opens its palm
and says, “Come, rest.”
Perhaps it is kinder —
not because it spares,
but because it ends
what life could never balance.
The crown and the beggar
share one silence,
the fire and the ash
become one color.
So fear not the dark —
for even the stars
burn out in peace.
In the end, Death stands where Life divides — reminding all are equal once more.
A Note to the Reader
This poem was meant to be the very first piece in my book.
Unfortunately, due to a printing error, it appeared incorrectly in the published copy. The necessary corrections are currently in process and will be updated soon.
Until then, I want to share this poem here as a first glimpse into the kind of writing you’ll find throughout the book.
This piece reflects the spirit of the collection — honest, reflective, and rooted in lived experience. It is not written to impress, but to remember. If it resonates, then the book has already begun doing its work.
Thank you for reading, and for allowing words the grace to be revised — much like life itself.
This work is copyright © to Shivanshu Pande 2025.
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