Death has been my partner,
my best friend.
Every day the fear,
greets me in my bed,
and body starts dying.
I join the play.
The sun clips the clouds,
my lungs fill with aroma.
A golden bird starts singing
on the swaying leaves of palm.
Death smears me with ideas,
larger than pain before and after it was foggy.
I sleep, half-opened eyes,
watching over with face to the window.
Life moves from grief to grief.
A tiny seed pulsates in the crevice of mind,
I love a view like that.
One hundred moons and a dying sun.
An immense contrast.
Whom shall I choose as a prologue?
I cannot tread the center of unborn story.
The clouds are always crimson before the night.
Life has a shadow of death –
and a strange relationship survives.