Obsession With A Chair
More passionate than sensual dear.
He or she thinks, he is allowed
To carry chair alog with in heaven or hell
When death knocked his door
He is still busy in caressing the chair.
Although he is rich, he behaves like poor.
I mean he is mentally poor
A big compound but door without any bell
Not allowed to enter, written there.
I don't think, death does care
Who is he and who is she
Invisible flight without any fare.
Hell needs intellectual like he and she
Permission granted to almost you see.
Composed by Tulsi Shrestha
@copyright reserved
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem