Death Is An Immaculate Icon Poem by Moahammad Maleki

Death is an immaculate icon

Purging the face of planet from monotony
From woe and interminable agony

Like cathartic literary work it distills human being from impurity
Injects within vein of mortal creatures sense of true verity

Unlike other relative connection between different reasons it exists only in version of absolute
It comes unnoticed with a mouth turned to mute

I heard a herd of angles with molten bludgeons strolling in hazy weather
Marching through gates of death
Ready to wrap their hand around lives of stale nature
Although they might seems salubrious outwardly
But specious jewels likewise, drag eyes of beguiled

When angle of torment come with its last penetrating gaze
I will be face with it with such bravery that deserves human being
Like an alien of loneliness or vagrant of no home
I shall be harbored in state of its oblivion shelter
Like slaves or refugees that resort to most ignominious places,
Does it matter?
The palace of king or ghettos of paupers as our last asylums
I do not think so.

In the guise of a torturer, death is a vivid equivocation
Comes from the very bottom of absurdity
And it end to mere hallucination of existence

I am waiting for something to come from road of acquaintance
To come And rescue me of all hypocrisies and cruelties
To come and endow me with enduring feeling of salvation
And explain me of forbidden borders...