It is common knowledge in village Woop-Woop:  
Gnyaneshwar penned "Gnyaneshwari" in one fell swoop,
but later on, after drinking some coconut juice,
he jetted off into mahasamadhi* —whooz!

As a tractor operator from the very place  
equated mahasamadhi to returning—with grace—
one's worn-out ticket to Heavenly Lord,
his face was gilded by last twilight rays.

Mid-supper, the milkmaids from the very hickst  
included "Gnyaneshwari" into Brodsky's List,  
though Brodsky didn't stop his resting in peace,
for he'd grown tired of exhorting lay-deez,

provided that their choice wasn't that bad.
Gnyaneshwar had penned "Gnyaneshwari,"—poor lad!
He had a hard time bringing it home to folks
who had a penchant for not connecting the dots.      

About the said Gnyaneshwar—if only he knew
that in less than a millennium, a random dude
would quote "Gnyaneshwari" in one fell sway—
otherwise, he'd have surely whispered: "I stay."

*mahasamadhi can be viewed as a non-violent suicide

Thanatos--are you standard in your
procedure?
that is, do you exert the precise force an
individual requires to be pronounced
dead?
are you negligible with some, completely
unaware of your strength?
leave no dust for dust to come to, as you
would the like of: nothing.
do you keep the lives you take for yourself--how would that work?
you should have been dead the first time, but you didn't die--you took a life & ran with it.
you never stop, do you--which's to say you're infinite, that word afforded  bad poets.
the way that looking at checkered shoes
feels like the makings of a headache.
Thanatos--i suspect you're more than
submitted anatomy, you've never once
rejected a submission (in the end).
nor will you this poem.
you are winter here, & i know you see in snow--what about elsewhere?
Thanatos--what if i told you that you're
somehow a lesser god, subordinate to
Gd of thy Gd.
i'm yours--but in an unfaithful way.
you whose exotic collection of
Mahasamadhi is like a cat nap with
elevator music.