Death In A Street Poem by Sasanka Sekhar Panda

Lying in a crowded colorful street
of the capital
in the hot sweating noon
he is unlamented and unrecorded,
and his soul in his bowl
among the six to seven coins.

Now he is taking his last breath
on his tattered rags
fluttering its wings
the pale shadows splitting
and eyeballs melting to water
and handcuffing
the mocking humanity
and charity in frozen silence
with no cry of horror
but all grieving silence
clinging to his heart
lifting him unbound and naked
to the autumnal sky
to the dazzling silvery eternity.