The baleful crows of nightingales
sound the lamentation of one’s final throes.
The skies cry for the thoughts and memories you’ve left behind,
the beautiful flowers shrivel up in response; petals once alluring now lifeless
Never would one think that in your passing
brings such a feeling of melancholy and longing.
The cries of toiling people comes with you in your rest,
Beneath the murky ground – amidst the vast and desolate plains
until the echoes of life leave their bodies.