• khwabeeda 6w

    The news of my death

    I sometimes wonder that how will it reach you.
    The news of my death.
    For all i know there will not be any crying.
    Or will there be?
    Maybe it will reach you on your way back home.
    On a starlit night.
    With the sound of evening traffic.
    A RJ talking about love on the radio.
    And i hope you just roll down the window and let out a prayer looking up at the sky.
    Or maybe on saturday night.
    When you are with your friends.
    Partying and having the time of your life.
    With music and alcohol.
    And for a moment you just forget how to breathe.
    Or speak or react.
    Then on that very moment.
    Just whisper my name.
    With the whiskey in your hands.
    And allow me to celebrate.
    With you.
    One more time.