Gajanan Mishra is dead.
One asked; are you sure?
Another said; you have committed a mistake.
Yet another added; My God, no one can believe it.
Gajanan Mishra declared; take it or leave it.
Oh no, all said at the same time.
Some said; we knew Mr Mishra from his childhood.
Some other added; we should remember Mr Mishra as he is.
Yet some other declared; Let us pray for the deceased.
But it is autumn, How can you say Mr Mishra is dead!
See, and discover Mr Mishra in your album.
I, as Gajanan Mishra make myself placed at the top of the hill
And told all, see I am here.
But no one is ready to hear, though said, it is disgrace.
Thinking oneself dead is and beautiful creation....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Reads like an obituary written by the writer well in advance for the sake of fun. May he live 100+. (Recently, Delhiwallah.com started a similar trend to which several persons contributed)