It Is Death
A
Anil Kumar Panda
0
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Death is a shroud you must wear
Amidst rain of roses and kin's tear
And you will be taken away to be placed
Inside a hole under a tree already traced
Death comes wearing a disguise
It comes once, not twice or thrice
It comes without knocking on the door
Walking silently in the air not on the floor
Death will someday embrace you,
It has no scent, form, color or hue;
It visits neither as a friend nor as a foe,
Drags you to sleep in a hole dark and low
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