Death, you are too weak to have a
nap on your lap.
Either you are too strong to hug the
woman, Menghaobi*,
- the most beautiful woman on earth.
Death, you are too ashamed in front
of the Indian Army,
You simply deny to recite your own
part.
Death, your performance depends upon
the audience's cry,
This time we won't cry, we simply
deny,
This time, on the face of humanity,
you are a mere dirt.
Death, in a nasogastric tube, you
are stuck
Time is stilled so.
Only the men in uniform are in flux
Who are actually dead in spirit long
ago.
*Menghaobi: the fair one, Manipuri
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