You Shall Be Dead Poem by Mehta Hasmukh Amathaal

Yes I am his face
Where you find His traces
In form of love
And believe

We play
And stay
With some mission
With partial error impression

People admit
And greet
Good children
With flowers even

But are we exception?
To look different with relation
Each one treating us on wrong footing
The impression s wrongly shooting

We can't paint human face
Where you find reflection of races
Color and appearance do come on fore
We show inclination therefore

We forget about short duration
That has been given to us for elevation
Live with peace or hatred
One day you shall be dead