Grave
You walk sideways
Where the leftover shadows of the passerby
Still mingles like a mid-day song that you kept humming,
Passing the shade of pale trees,
You recall the hum of a bee,
Walking with you,
“Long ago, your father said,
When the bee stops to hum in your ear,
You die”
Every alternate road,
You would to take,
Would lead you to the same place,
Grave,
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The face of faith,
Slowly transforming itself into death,
All the ocean gather
And wave you with their currents,
Soothing voices of yellow leaves,
Stir your body in the air,
If you would have to leave everything like this,
You would enjoy this short walk
To the Grave,
Now, I know how it’s like
To fly with death,
Next to the small flowers,
I sit,
And become the grave;
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