My death would be a piece of news,
Or utmost a surprise or a relief
And in no way a pain or a grief.
Inmates would be busy for my dispatch,
Some would weep and some would be gloomy
As they are there supposed to.
Heirs would be busy in sorting my things.
To see me off, all are busy;
Thank God, I am not there to see.
08.02.2007
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem