FLIPSIDE.

The floor resounds with the pacing of restless feet.
In silent acknowledgement do anxious eyes meet.
The nurses go in and out, checking the equipment.
The doctor, now and then , says few words of encouragement.

Sometimes there are long sighs or sometimes there are none.
There could be restless movements, if the pains have begun.
Cold beads of profuse sweat may leave a wet trail.
One last effort, perhaps a muffled plaintive wail.

What news will travel through the white antiseptic door?
The sadness of death or of birth, joys galore?
For they are so similar, our beginning and our end.
The very same pains as this world we transcend.

Perhaps the horizon limits our very insight.
What we view as darkness may be Eternal Light?
May be they are flipsides of the coin very same.
Our limited knowledge gives each a different name.

May be Death is not the last curtain call.
It just may be Birth beyond an invisible wall.
Death may not be final , or Birth a mere chance.
They could be the very moment in the Cosmic Dance.