24 Hours Left to Live

What would you do if you have 24 hours left to live?

I had just finished reading; “They Both Died At The End” by Adam Silvera, and this question just kept ringing in my head.

The answer seem obvious to me at first; spend time with friends and family, say my goodbyes, take a walk and enjoy the beauty of this life, or in a rather explosive manner; tell everyone what I think of them. But none of them felt right. What will separate the final goodbye I have to say from the good mornings I have always said? Having spent years living, what difference will seemingly enjoying nature make in my last moment? Telling people what I think of them, but to what end? I am never going to die satisfied; either I live for 24 hours or a 100 years. That is one of the curses of being human and I am trying to make my peace with that.

So I become introspective and finally figured it out. If I have 24 hours left to live, I will spend it writing. Personally, I see writing as a means to become immortal. Even if I die, my writings will live on forever (as long as there is no Library of Alexandria incident) and by that my mind, my thoughts will live on forever. Anyways, this inspired me to write a poem, even though I don’t really consider myself to be a poet.

Sadly, I haven’t been writing much today. Maybe it’s because I have more than 24 hours to live. Or maybe I don’t, the only thing certain in life is uncertainty. But I am too arrogant to die young anyways.

                                                       I want to write.
                                                 Write the way I think.
                                      For my obsession to show in my work.
                     Writing with an incessant, insatiable, and maddening hunger.
                          I want to write till blood start dripping from my fingers.
                         Write myself into panic attacks and nervous breakdown.
                                  Into the dreaded world of existential crisis.
                                  Write till I live in the world my words create.
                     Pages pouring out like sand into this abysmal Nothing that is existence.
                                I want to write till I breathe my last.
                                 Till there are no words left in me.
                    More importantly, I want to write till I am God.