It was a winter evening, the sun had to go early.
I could hear the cry of our dear cat, his sunken eyes wished
to tell a pathetic story, steps tattered and wished to
say-''I am too exhausted to walk''.
His broken voice
reminded me the broken string of my heart that
I played oneday,
he hid the thick tears
behind the curtain of his patheic joy as the
water hides itself into the ice.
I remember
I fed him that last evening but
who knew he would run
away on a secrect way
from the sweet garden of paradise to the world of Pluto.

In the morning I did see the cat lying on the
comfortable
bed of ruthless death.
I fetched milk to drink him.
He drank unconsciously I supposed.
When I called a divine call, the cat left his last breath
Lifting his right leg as if blessed me that was
incredible but credible.
I paused for a while like a dead tree.
It seemed the air lost its way, the sky lost
its beauty,
the sun forgot to shine up, oh, how pathetic it was!

Today I can hear the sound of the ***** and the ground
they made a little room together for our dear cat,
my father digged.
I made his bed under the ground with my own hands.
But I couldn't provide a single lamp
for his dark room.
He looked like Seamus Heaney's the tollund man.

Often I dream our dear cat is alive and cheery, but
Oh, in reality he is no more.
Although he speaks a lot today
such as a silent portrait hanging on the white wall.
Ah, my heart aches!