Poetry

Tell me, 
how would you die 
when the call comes? 
 
A hollow skin― 
with no viscera― underneath. 
 
Will you cry― 
while breaking away from the earth― 
carrying your own urn? 
 
Elysian vision― 
was not very clear 
and Styx was full of bodies. 
 
There was no space left 
to celebrate the liberation. 
 
A parchment paper 
with your fading name printed; 
after the petition of right 
to exist, undying 
in deeds.