IN MY GRAVE
A house of just three and a half,
It is almost plain and not so rough.
It placed me perfectly, I know,
Like a newborn seed upon his row.
Its shape in a form that’s regular,
Not a circle or a square, but rectangular.
Who is the maker of it, though?
He has made a mistake in his flow.
Here is not a single ventilator inside,
Isn’t it infeasible to reside?
Oh, I am sweating fiercely,
Now it’s hard to breathe eagerly.
But where’s my begetter, my friends too?
I can see no one except them, the two.
Trust me, even I don’t know this pair,
They are asking three questions rare
About my religion, the Prophet, and the Lord;
Without answering, I won’t be restored.
Okay, so I’ve already left my world,
It’s my stage where I was hurled.
Now I am in front of Him,
And it is the night of the deepest dim.
I ask, “How long must I stay?”
He answers, “Until the last day of decay.”
Behold! I’m the most destitute ever,
And no one is going to last forever.
You all are busy with your worldly race,
Remember, you’ll come to my place.
It must happen even after a thousand months,
Though I have also existed in you once.
It is the harsh reality that Iwrote.
I earnestly beg you to accept this thought.
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