When I am gone, at the tip of a rope
Or the last poison drop
What do they tell about me?
Compelled by a social creed,
To speak only glory of deceased
They’ll call me all that I always wanted to be called
I wish to know...
When I am gone, after losing to hope
Struggling up to the final drop
What do they think about me?
Some not-so-close will grieve for days
Others closer shall for months
I shall then become part of the rusted records
I wish to know...
When I am gone, becoming nothing but memory
Roaming aimless and free
Will you show me my beloved ones, even if they can’t see me?
I loved them so much more than me
And that shall continue to be
But never once did they care to feel nor did they ever see!
-Shyam
Lovely.. Very very well written.. :D
ReplyDeletei kinda relate to the narrator here.. :) so i love this. :)
Thats dangerous! ;-)
ReplyDelete