Life is not A battle field That witnesses the bloodshed But An arable land That is cultivated forever The emotions, the bliss And the agony From the birth to death It responds At every wound That is made by A relationship
When the streets Filled with blood When the blood Kisses my feet How can I write The beauty of flowers? . When the corpse Looks at me painfully When the humanity Whirling in hostility How can I write Bliss of the soul?
It's my own That can't be of others It's my own Where I can live in peace It's my own That no one can purchase It's my own From where I can decide My destination It's my own That no one can drag from me Oh! My death bed I love you the most.