Poetry

An extreme smog descends 
on your eyes. A heavy haze envelops 
the landscape. You watch the 
world crumbling around you. 
The death was very beautiful 
thing, a moment before dying. 
 
Becoming activist had contributed 
towards the end; like 
targeting yourself to be hanged. 
The particulates pollution of 
depression had seeped, and 
Milky Way was asking, are you breathing? 
 
The fish now swims outside 
the body. Death has many colours to celebrate.