He was not a poet
But life made him write.
Tiny bits of a layman's struggle
Yet for the pure heart a jingle.
Long ago I was his friend
Few sweat moments together we did spent
He sent me some old memoirs
Ah! my eyes can still shed tears
That was all past
Life has turned fast
I had no time to reply
My head declared it silly
Just a few words of merry
The sick brain but felt it so heavy
Then I knew I wont ever get any more verse
Already was on me the curse
I wanted to reply
But before he should die
Only his death did testify
Death of the fellow being alone satisfy
Before you spit on my face
Shed on me the words of abuse
Let me just make a query
How could a dead man reply?
And lastly, least for a sob
When you with the mob
Tore the pride of my mom
I was a kid in her womb.
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