The black hands of death,
cannot hold the white thread of life.
Neither the sun nor the moon will bear witness to it.
The blowing wind will not pave way to snatch the memories.
The rising waves will never allow to immerse the footprints.
And the mountains will hold high to my spirit.
The clouds will carry my thoughts all across the world
And they will shower it time and again.
And I will emerge by becoming a rainbow sometimes.
Perhaps, those black hands will never catch the silver lines again.
Last line linger in my mind and will remain, Powerful statement. Perhaps, those black hands will never catch the silver lines again.
We fear death will wipe everything after our departure. No it can only wipe our body. Wonderful poem.
All your good deeds will remain after death and will keep reminding. Great poem.
The clouds will carry my thoughts all across the world And they will shower it time and again. And I will emerge by becoming a rainbow sometimes. Perhaps, those black hands will never catch the silver lines again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
All your poems will remain till the readers are alive.