The Game of Life and Death

I pulled the rein with all my might
As though I were a veteran knight.
My stallion gallops, though its speed
Is low, because of his humble breed.
His skin is wrinkled, hairs are gray,
He pants a lot; now should I pray?
She is chasing me on her black mare,
Haunting me like a nightmare.

The game I started very long past
When memory and I saddled first.
I proudly rode to my village school
Where my mates all made me an April’s fool.
When I jumped out its gate, along the road
A funeral procession, O my God!
Faces full of scorn and hate,
Gazing simply at my fate
I saw in the coffin my own face
And scattered flowers of no fragrance!
I knew, all those were plastic flowers
Of my weary boyhood days.
I had no time to stop or weep;
I thought fortunes are still to sweep.

I crossed then many a river, thorp,
And city, still with endless scope.
Some praised me of my skill in ride
While others blamed me of my pride
But, my youth was falling like dead leaves
That groaned under, on autumn eves.

I pulled the rein with all my might
As though I were a veteran Knight
My aim is still far, far away;
Can I cover this long, long way?
I hear the footsteps of her mare,
Soon she may trap me in her snare!
I see her deep, dark locks of hair
Like Monsoon clouds that float in the air,
Those rose from unknown sapphire depth,
Where there is no birth or death.

Yet, I must try to go forward
Though old age, I know, is awkward.
If I fail, am I the first?
Nay! So many eminent riders have lost!

(Death follows everyone from childhood. Yet, one has to go forward until his/her last breathe, hoping to achieve something. This is also posted in http://www.triond.com/users/johnsonpjohn)