A fevered night wandering through dark Calcutta streets into a hospital of death— In the mirror of his vanity Death surveys An agony of souls: Foul breathed old men, spent women, children Strewn like cards upon the floor, Wearing his face. A solitary nun In black and spotless white Ghostlike floats within the mirror, A royal flush upon her cheek, Whispering against all odds God's love, His will— Undying passion. Soul woman: A beacon in the deadly dark Night of the human heart Joyously singing. Death, where is thy victory?