कोसेली

Sign In

after my deathDon't write any dirges Do not print in the newspaperA sad ad of condolenceAnd, not a single funeral processionwalks on the road

In a ruin of history,

I was born as infamous as death.

I was born from that unfortunate woman's

Then I took 

On this selfless soil of yours

I can't remember

the whole situation then

But, I guess

My mother's body torn by mountains of grief and pain

I guess

The story of my insignificant birth

In that dark night

There wasn't even a grain of grain in my father's store

He was very sad

In the name of clothes at home

History could not be made

It was only a dilapidated shack

With darkness guarding all around

A terrible monster of evil was standing

In a human-hating famine, how are mothers' wombs justified?

How are his unfortunate creations socialized?

How is the renewal of creation?

And how is the so-called grace of God?

On the night I was born

A prince was born on earth

(Later he became a king)

At that time

Cannons roared loudly

In the open field

And, fireworks terrorized the city

The empress was happy after childbirth

The old emperor was drunk with hundreds of years old wine

But, my mother

became old in an instant after giving birth to me

She questioned - turning back to the innocent

Why didn't I become barren?

Why didn't time take me?

My helpless mother's questions were not answered

ended without meaning 

The woes of my childhood and youth

Life was never like life

I don't remember any poetic words spoken by children

I can't name a single joyous game children play I 

I can't tell

Just one scenario of a colorful dream

That's how my youth days passed

Without singing a single song at the fair

Without tasting love and passion

That's how my journey to hell passed

Now I'm prematurely old

My hair has turned gray 

The power of the eye is too weak

And, I stand before the great gate of death 

is still young my born Maharaj

some unfortunate man has given him his youth 

But he will surely die one day

But, death is waiting to wrap him in a glorious embrace

Death is surprised, his history

Death has no meaning

With the criminal evidence of the black empire

With adultery, murders and kotparvas

Death is pulkyt

The emperor's fortune and prowess

Is writing his golden eulogy in his account 

Death haunts me

He does not even look at me with one eye

So like a Mahatma or a philosopher

I could not take death easily

Like a divine soul 

I couldn't even consider birth easy

then— 

Yes, then

I didn't want to die in this place

I didn't like 

To publish the news of a poor death

Where my history is robbed

Where love, bravery, affection, help, charity, Dakshina

If I do not qualify

There I am unworthy to die 

I will not earn disgrace 

Don't be offended

So today I write,

A will through poetry

— I hate this ugly death

— I challenge this biased flatterer and declare :

You cannot kill me here

Because,

Before your wild mouth opens

I'll be gone 

from this sick valley

Death is not my benefactor

I hate death.