Death

The last thing on ground

before my brain gets
fragmanted with electric shocks
and the first thing in sky
when my blurry sight reach
the surface of warm lake
is a death.

A death,
unattended,
of pending funeral.

Thick white saliva
is pouring out
and stinking air keeps
filthy vultures away
from this decaying piece
in soiled maroon bedsheet.

Now, never dare
to show sympathies.
If you were to,
you would have set the pyre,
emptied packets of clarified butter
and touched it for just once.

All silences act as
coatings of asphalt
on unfortunate fertile lands
wetted with plethora of mists.


Sim