Lines on my Death

I will die early in the morn
When all the softness of life slowly from the sky
Will drop on the Krishnochura leaves
On Number Eighteen, on my countenance it will look for 
Being tricky bends on the road bends.
This town is very nice that day afternoon,
Light air with the teeth of the sun
On a leg pulled rickshaw, 
Into her Hair, a teen of sixteen rose rumors.
At New Market or Shibabari squire
Cigarette thrust into the hands of sky-blue shirt-sleeves
A First time lover looked at the sky to understand the sun.

I will die early in the morn
While flapping busy sparrow wings 
Before her going out and finding a new day savings.
Or maybe next to my left chest 
On that day, a poem will be very incomplete.
Maybe a flurry crow
My death will come to console.
Sometimes at them a piece I
Could not throw bread or meat.

Yet, as many times by being hurt from the people 
A shelter under their dark wings
As a nurse they healed me.
In black eyes of them
I’ve ever seen nothing but sorrow for the people …

I will die early in the morn surrounding by them.

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