Futility

All our written/spoken words,

Are nothing but-

Lumps of snow in the snowfall.

It gets repeated day by day,

And till years by years.

Then after remain only,

The vibrations of lips & arms;

Like dry leaves,

Roaming in the autumn !

At last,

The exercise of ascertaining, 

The futility ends;

When the life is crushed down,

Like a cigar under the 

Strong boot of Mr. Death !

-RAJEN MEHTA