I am born as a waif who lived in a lumber room.
No one ever enter that damp darkness.
With great expectation,
Like a warrior who waits the trumpet of triumph
I wait for a golden sunny day, and moon lit night.
I fervently pray for the invasion of an unseen
But sober spirit in my cave to accept the
Last rituals each of the human being
Wish like the drowning souls of a sinking vessel.
Life is not an exciting ceremony.
It is a deal we try to settle with destiny.
On this side of the grave I swear
Even God loves life and he too loves the
Protective ring and scared of the chilling wind
and ash in a grave yard.
A sense of removal from the world
Because even in a death chamber
We wish the signature of life….
Like an imbecile or like a moron.
The mortician even hesitates to
Go back from the path forbidden………..!