The Corpse and The Holy River

I am a decaying corpse,
Worm ridden, sans life and its gloss,
I float along, silent and alone,
As the Sun sets splendouring forth,
This river, making it a holy tomb.
 
A part of me is yet to decay,
And with it I shall perform my final prayer,
I was a poet and may it be a poem,
With verses I shall scribble about,
The awe at life life that passes around.
 
Behold, I do not see heavens opening up,
Nor hell burning below,
Nor do I see the prophecied Lord,
Amidst the blasphemical terror.
 
But the river on which I am destined to float,
Is like a mother sustaining life,
A drop of tear lines my eyes at the thought,
And also to see debris float along,
To see a mother made wrong,
By her children which shreds me and my swansong.
 
I am suddenly greeted by birds up high,
It was a world I dreamed about,
Though looking back at the ground,
I see men killing men,
Feeding on their blood and sparing some for their mother,
The mother that makes me float along.
 
I see cows grazing on a meadow,
In a world so green,
And yet as I float, I see falling trees,
Do men eat trees too? He is strange,
He does it for feeding a stomach,
And to feed a mind tormented.
 
I pass through shores where children bathe,
Animals drink, cows sh*t,
All is taken up by the mother,
Cause she is holy, and pure!
 
She carries me along,
Buildings line the banks now,
I see temples, I see shrines,
I see whores, I see saints,
I see men, I see women,
And the thought of my passing life,
Leaves me in shudders.
 
The decay  is almost complete,
I close my dead eyes,
I see not the world beside,
But a brighter world blinds my sight,
 
I look back once again at my life,
I was young, I was strong,
I was a lover once,
A father twice,
I was a student, also a teacher,
I was a coward, yet a non believer,
I wonder how I ended up in my mother's hands?
The holy mother that sustains life,
And takes in the dead to rot.
 
I hope to see the God I ceased to believe,
I would ask him to give me another go,
To see the stars, to see the sky,
To hold a lover's hand,
And to redeem lost honour.
 
I shall ask him to give another chance,
To live to change the pictures that a dead man saw,
Floating with his mother in his last ride,
I shall ask him to help me,
Help me to feed a child, to grow a tree,
To save my mother, to save her purity,
To cry, to laugh,
And to hold a child close to my heart.