Fragrance Of Death Poem by Rakesh Mondal
Fragrance Of Death
Death might has its own fragrance
That the flies can only smell
They come and sit on the hand
Of the dying man lying on the lane
People pass by like a stream
They don’t even bother to have a glance at him
The day disappears, the night settles down
Humanity has chosen another way to go down
The old man dies without a dropp of water
And behind the door of the charity home remains as closed as ever……………………
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/8/2024 12:56:12 PM # 1.0.0.1119
