Rotting ; I lay;

The sardonic ‘ no-more operation’  flows,

The beautiful scarlet blood adorns the nose.



I have stopped to complain for I love the tears ;

At least the fever loves me; so does the blood;

You freed me , giving my hand to the trident Lord.


This fragile body is nothing but an albatross;

I feel the levity of my soul, willing to leave ;

For I am needed no more, you made me believe.


Discomfited , the dark shades fill the oxygen and saline;

I don’t gasp for breath; the earthly air is not mine ;

I wait for my lord to take me to his abode!!

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