I wasn't able to
keep a count of all the seasons,
that faded.

But, Lo!
Few uncountable nights ago,
I ate my lacerated heart
and buried my perdition caught soul
in that neglectful garden of mine.
The disenchanted banyan tree now stands there
stitching shadows into that morbid ground.

The passing wind tells me
how they have cremated me in my verses.
Ah!
What a tragedy?!
These shameless verses of my poetry,
that is Greek to me now.
murdered me vehemently
in that Orchestra of the muse.