In the corridor that connects birth and death,
Intense silence remains at standstill; there
Erupts a hushed moan, helplessly pleading
For some unexpressed assistance.
Let me own that silence, adopt it to
My soul, as meaningful moments,
That slips away elusively in the interlude
Of silence and sounds in life.
We make them into poems, in all
Its perfection and contemplate on it.
Open my eyelids after my death and
Look into the depth, without apprehension.
You will observe the ripples in the sea of
Tears that were kept away from dropping
Down through the cheeks, grimly.
Even the destiny is preventing me
To become insane, lest I forget
To remember everything…