Death

It creates a void

Which cannot be filled with 

Golden bricks or silver cement.

It creates a memory

Which cannot be replaced with

Diamond jewels and purest gems.

It creates a song,

Which cannot be heard with

Magical string and ornated flute.

But it is a replica,

Of your life

Where you poured your dreams!

It is the medal

Which ornate your grave,

With the tears of your dear ones.

Snake Bite

I peeped into her room

To poison her dream!

Alarmed with my hiss,

She chopped my head.

But cursed with my death,

She carried fear to generation,

As her culture stood with me.

Manifesto

To my ghost,

I can write an elegiac poem

Which may resonate your unsaid voice,

With a volcanic eruption of your soul.

To my slave,

I can write a freedom resolution

Which may reflect your unseen spirit,

With a dislocated structure of your home.

To my friend,

I can write a hidden manifesto

Which forbid you from dying as a slave

With a massive depiction of reality;

" Never live as a slave,

until you forget your breathe."