I remember it well.

I remember it well,
the year 1936,
ships engorging the docks,
as vessels pass continents-
people flocking the theatres
t watch you play
your august scene;
'The lies of obsolescence'

As the curtains draw,
your enigmatic demeanor
-with it an elucidative carriàge-
puts Shakespeare down upon his knees
you, the discountenancer, triumphant,
as you take center stage
the pedestal beneath your feet,
unreservedly yours.
I remember it well.

The acts played out,
in seven ages,
your exits,
your entrances-
you, the leading protaganist,
you, the adversative antagonist
you; assuming both the role of cast and of crew.
Oh yes, i remember it well.

The curtains coalesce
-a sheet of red-
behind the commoving applause,
of whistles,
of clamor,
superseded by an auricular confession on my left,
'Subliminal performance.'
I pause briefly in aftermath,
that breathtaking éncore-
I remember it well.

The stands clear,
seats empty,
the marking of the end-
the end of the play,
of year 1936.
You waved goodbye,
t faces of enthusiastic crowd
in waves of curtsy
in pulses of bow.
That, i remember it well.

You were 45.
mid-life, gorgeous, charismatic.
Your soul-sundering pair of blue-
I remember it well.

The year 1946
ships scarce; none in sight
docks empty; void of light
only through the filter of neon signboards-
your august play;
'The lies of obsolescence'
still carried on.

I remember it well.
The curtains coalesce,
-a sheet of maroon-
behind vague claps of silence
deafening in its context;
no shouts,
no applause,
no éncore.

The irony of your last act,
'The lies of obsolescence' ;
as gradual transformation take its place,
the highest notch of roleplay,
when you and play become one;
Obsolete.
I remember it well-
I remember, you were forgotten.

A simple lesson drawn : Whatever you possess is temporal. It may be long-lasting, assuring while it still exists, but never eternal. There can never be a forever; humans remain, unfortunately (or fortunately, if you ask me) mortal. Death draws a line, however fine you may perceive it t be- perhaps in your aspects of the afterlife. It puts an end, even if for the most minute second, t whatever you own, whatever you've achieved. This does not apply merely t the silly defects of materialistic possessions. Ideologies, emotions, and even something as great as love comes t an end when you depart; a dead mind does not have the ability t think nor feel. We are- as are all other human beings- but a living entity; clasped in books of history if you're significant enough, but when life as we know it ends, we cease in existence t our present world. We may be remembered a little, for a while- grieved over, perhaps- but eventually, at the very very end of time... we, are forgotten.

We will be forgotten- that's an unspoken truth- but honestly, do we care?
No.
Maybe infinitesimally, yes, we feel an inexplicable tingle of unjust, for the massive belittlement of our individualistic presence, but in all truth- i can assure you- that doesn't matter.
It doesn't.

For years, millions have tried thrusting their names upon the glamour of "Guinness World Records" or history texts; books which might leave a trace of their once, minuscule existence in years t come.

History? -laughs- It could be as much of a hoax as the man next door being President of India. History's written by victors... so the extent of truth? Not reliable.

Why then, may i ask, would people want t do that?
(The following part is pretty controversial, just my two cents worth.)

These are the people, who are terribly unsatisfied with their lives. They wish t be remembered; t show others how wonderful (or shitty, really) their lives were. T be held in high esteem, maybe, for things that they might or might not have done. These are the people who require evidential proof as t how amazing their life is. It explains their lack of meaning and their overwhelming need for constant reassurance as t how their life should be led. I dare say this, for a person who has led his/her life with satisfaction, wouldn't see the need in seeking substantial proof for their wonderful years spent here, in mortality; they are clear of what they have, and they are contented.

Bottomline: Cherish whatever you have- it won't be eternal, it won't last forever, but it's as real as it gets- for real things don't last.

Let's embrace death; the dawn of a new life.