They propagated
I am dead
I felt once
I am not alive
They decided
I am bluffer
betrayal
butcher
I simply kept
myself silent
and now
when I am on the road again
they think
I am the ghost......
...............................
This way a mad began her story
to tell to the tree,
from behind
I only listened the words
and spasm of her passion
Now feel it a poem
for my own to utter
to myself
because
I have no enemy to defend
yet have some ego to be
an egoist as live cruelly alone!
Pranab k c
06/11/2015
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem