Whispers tell me the tale of my grave,
Withholding the irony that I m still alive,
A piece of blanket is all I crave,
Moulding my sorrows in tearful delight,
I ponder ,that am i walking the same street,
That u paved ,
That went to our destiny , the shrine of the woman
Who died young n brave ,
Where the clock ticked three,
Dawn as it was,
Sand still carving my bare feets,
Merlyn, u r still the best mother
U left me , it was fate
But still in the skies ,
As I look away the moon,
I see stars
To be or not to be alive in the moment ,
Still with the glimmer of hope
That they are with me,
Mother , now no one feeds me here
No one gives me warmth
As we still don't have blankets
Times goes n goes by,
No flesh no bones no eye remains
All remains is your shrine
With me thinking u beneath
Listening to my cries
Mother, u there?
Cause I know you are not
Beneath the stones
Lies a body
Still cold with stiches n knots
I still remember your blue skin
That was never blue
Holding that head
Caressing those hair
And you slept til eternity
Last time u were that close to me
Now As I row my boat in deeds
Full of misery
I see mist
Ceasing my sight
Slowly draining me
To the corner of my mind
I still hate to visit

We live,
We suffer long enough
To die,
Ask a man , old,
Older than those streets,
Who moulds memories in the footpath
Of misery,
1 or a million die in his existence
Still he lives,
He lives In those ashes n graves
And questions,
Is he a boon or so unloved to be betrayed by death,
His bones tremble n crack,
Lifting weight of dead
Dead that were ones alive
To make him stop question
That why he lives,
Now as he narrows down
His vision to embrace,
He personifies
His desperation to die,
Be it the scarf or the pen,
Or Rotting in the fen,
Or bathing in the acid,
Or not so happy ig placid,
Be it the snakes or the worms,
Or leaches in their throngs,
Devouring his curse,
As he crumble down his purse,
He whisper to his lady,
Who lives in her arcady,
They will cross their paths aboon,
As he still thinks,
He will get his death so soon.