His eyes closed, tears dripping profusely
hands clasped, heart pounding a bit,
I could sense his lips too wanted to say
But what was it that i failed to decipher.
From the window of my coffin,
My soul, gazed at the wails,
Every cry pleaded me to stop.
My journey was, but over .
My final destination and a long rest.
The thorns of sincere deceit,
the poker of dethroned trust
finally hit me to attack my soul.
Heaps of undelivered letters i left.
The silent rose outside my parlour
must be despondent and dejected.
Hand over one of the letters to him.
Tell him to paint it with his parting smile.
I lie in peace-bedecked by the rosemary petals,
the astar dancing gleefully with me.
I can see you from above, resting calmly
an attractive smile, like an idyllic breeze.
Shah Bisma Manzoor, from Jammu and Kashmir, India, has done masters in English Literature and works as Vice Principal at a higher secondary.
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