Friendship And Me Poem by dipak adhya

Often I die
When the hands of belief go far and far away
I feel a sort of deep insulting,
When there is darkness all around
Due to failure,
Then I merely a dead-body;
When they cheer for their victory with my dead-body,
Their words become like feathers of crown,
How maen a man I was-
And its colourful descriptions,
I feel
Centred round my past
There is only darkness!
Often I die
But looking at the hands of friendship
I could not say,
Et tu Brute!