Inning Was Poem by Mehta Hasmukh Amathaal

Many stories I had read
About living persons and dead
Kids of all ages used to speak about ghosts
We all were seized with different sorts

They may talk about death
That was to come after stopping of breathe
Person was to be taken to final destiny
To become dear again to an almighty

It was delicate stage
Almost painted deadly as an autumn page
Where dry leaves were to fall on ground
To be carried away by wind to be never found

Today I find myself with autumn
With little concern
Where I find weaknesses of different nature
Life is pushing me to dark corner

Well, one has to be pack
And keep nothing at stake
The inning was provided to you play
Now it is time to "bid adieu" any way