Nothing but Death...

I wish to write a poem

about nothing

but

death

The woman in next door

walks away

through the narrow alley

The old man

beneath a unknown tree

rests

after a long walk

A boy of twenty

smokes out

in a synchronised form

while talking over a mobile phone

I chose not to write

a poem about them

I hunt for a character

like a rickshaw puller,

like a man on the street

who announces about the next movie

in nearby theatre

and

distributes leaflets,

A man who comes to our street to sell charcoal

The woman selling puffed rice

All of them are dead

Long time passing

Let me rework on my flute

and

play the melancholy…