The Dead leaves

In this world there is morphine,

To silence the thoughts and lighten the spirit,

What comes to me in circles is love of yours,

Though you have denied my corpse,

In garb of myself in the mirror, laughing,

Like an ascetic on rounds of the forest,

Where love hidden is scared from the vultures,

And they want to eat me,

In full bright light of the noon,

But I deny your love for me,

And let me be eaten by the birds,

At least they fly away from stillness, the death,

Love conquers all, even the spirit of dying,

Who live the life after death only to be buried in your garden,

That’s my only desire,

To be mocked by the mocking bird,

And silence the silence upon grave’s,

Dead leaves of the grass.


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