No one recognizes him,
Maybe his disguise eludes all.
Slowly his ship,
circumnavigates.
Across the land of the living.
Easily he locates his prey.
Wielding his spiky fishing rod,
That catches myriads of souls.
Sometimes a net becomes handy.
His mortal map,
Detailed in form.
His fishing mission,
That he needn’t for sustenance.
Through thick and thin,
Souls are liberated.
From temporary existence .
Lucky ones escape his clutches,
Others are thrust by his fangs.
A captain with a crew,
A crew of souls
Commands the ship.
Souls held captive,
Yet not his slaves.
Though the beast of burden,
A fleeting resting place.
In the course of his journey ,
He reveres the spirit of lots.
And disappointed by many
Yet some are waved.
Second chances.
One becomes bewildered
How the soul reaper sails with the lot
In his expansive ship
With so many a crew
Captain Reaper has now assembled.
Mutiny never occurs
Amongst the crew
For the souls are like a cargo
That sleep in the ship.
There is no hiding place
For the reaper catches them
Then why is the reaper keen
On reaping souls?
Food for thought!
Perchance he was sent
On a quest for souls.
A duty he carries out
For a superior being
His master, perhaps.
A moment shall creep in
When the reaper himself
Won’t have souls to hunt.
Ordered shall he be to free his soul
As he freed man.
