Cure Poem by Ravinder Kumar Soni

My bed lay vacant.
For four days
I had sat, rested and slept on it.
The signs of my occupation,
Were still visible,
The pillow, with its deep depression,
The bed-sheet, oddly wrinkled,
The blanket, carelessly folded;
The towel-wrapped medicine pouch,
And my spare clothes on the side table.
I had come alone to get rid of my pain.
In the early hours today, I died,
No one has claimed my body.
Does it matter now?
What matters is,
I will no longer suffer any pain.