An atheist's prayer

The rawness of the cold
On drizzly december days,
Seeps through my shrunken bones,
Or what is left of them
From time, and the decay
Inherent in nature.
When life seeps away
Nothing is left but maggots,
Fattened, filthy, crawly, smelly-
No dreams, no fate, no memories,
Nothing but the darkness of the grave,
Nothing but the maggots.
Vaikuntha, the garden of eden, paradise,
Promises of peace, freedom from pain,
A white beacon, the saviour,
All nothing but utter lies,
Uttered by the shrewdest of men.
With life gone, what remains
Is less than nothingness,
Less than oblivion, less than shunya.
And a long long wait
For my withered dust to mingle with the soil,
For barren lifescape to turn fecund,
And thus to sprout out from below the earth,
And to give birth anew with the rains.