A Game Of Death Poem by Dr. Yogesh Sharma

The poor man died at the hospital gate,
The power drunkard nation full of hate,
The months run by, April, May, June,
The happy days become a gloomy dream.
I want to live, I want to love, I want to kiss;
I pray to give, the game of death, a miss.
I wish to dance with my wife,
I want to escape this deadly strife.
I lay isolated in my lifeless home,
I pine to breathe in free air zone.
The body is put on the funeral pyre,
But all are scared to light the fire.
My patience wants to say enough, now bye,
I want to live and work sans fear to die.