When I will die
My memory will disappear
like dunnest smoke in the air
Sorrow does not last
More than a week,
More than a month
At best a year.

What is death?
It is a noose if I am hanged
It is the devouring tongue of fire
If I am on the pyre
It is a mound of grass
if I am buried
It is the fear in
a drowning man
It is the
rotting in prison with sorrow and pain.

It is an unfinished song
An incomplete letter
An already written poem
Which no one can make better.