I Will Die Without Foot Prints
Resentment of inmates made me leave home.
Sentiments didn’t dry to suit my age;
Hence I went to streets instead of kin’s home.
I didn’t bring with me any past glory.
The cold of contempt didn’t make me shiver;
The heat of humility didn’t make me seat.
Sans qualm, sans shame, I turned a useless straw,
And without pain, nor strain, I begged for food.
Now and then tears of curses washed my eyes
And stale food thrown in bins roughened my tongue.
Grandchildren were completely forgotten.
All possessions were thrown as ill gotten.
When I will die and who will burry me
Went out of my head, eloping with my
Fear of future, fear of vulture and of gods.
I will die with no wish to leave foot prints.