I want to sketch
A portrait
Of hers.
A huge photograph
Of hers
Overshadowing.
And I walking down
The street
Under the shadow of.
Overlooking us
And I going by,
Passingthrough.
I thinking about,
Feeling
And going.
Nirbhaya,
Fearless, without fear,
Why to fear!
O distressed soul,
Why to look morbid,
Death cannot kill you!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Death has already killed her, Sir. Now, It is the turn of her killers to hang till their death. Thanks.