it was my day,
my time had come at long last,
i was going on to pay,
for crimes and sins of long past.
i was pulled out of my body,
as if leashed on an invisible hook,
i felt no happiness and not at all moody,
for this was predictable eventhough many years it took.
i walk towards the gate forboding and huge,
where st peter stood smiling and waiting,
he opened a book and let out a deluge,
of everyting i did while is stood there hating.
listening to my own acts and thoughts,
for which i was now to beg repentance,
while my body in my grave rots,
i was here waiting for acceptance.
it was all finally over,
the book was closed and replaced at last,
st peter stood there looking me over,
i stood cowering like the wind on a mast.
he bore through me with his eyes,
i lowered my gaze to the ground,
i knew there was no escape with lies,
i had just myself to curse and pound.
he pointed to the gate of hell,
as i moved on not a bit disheveled,
there was no help anything i could tell,
i was already on my journey to the devil....
Zindagi to bewafa hain, Ek din dtukhrayegi! Mouth mehbooba hain, Saath lekar jaayegi! So why we cower from death? Just move on 'not a bit dishevelled'. Good poetry! ! Keep writing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Zindagi to bewafa hain, Ek din dtukrayegi. Mouth mehbooba hain, Saath lekar jayegi! So, why do we cower from death? Just 'move on not a bit dishevelled'! Good poetry. Keep writing.