Saturday, November 16, 2013

Escape from Death

Every evening, a tired body
With walking sticks of dejected moments
Carrying corpse of my own in shoulder
I entered the crematorium
Few hope of life is there?
I try to sense it
I see rays of little hope 
I feel mild heartbeat
The door of Yamaraj has not shut down properly
I run out slowly towards my life.
Translated from Nepali by Poet

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