rise up, as I drown further into
into my tryst with destiny.
invincibly into the waters
escaping judgments that surround.
hits the head
thoughts clatter and dash against it
thudding into a orgasmic symphony
rushes from membranes to the sea-floor
I feel happy and at peace,
Another Dead poet writes a story,
that is seldom remembered,but often rehearsed.
(The stage curtains bow down,
we come to the end of a beginning
let this poet die and maybe the next time,
She would become the pauper with the prince blood.)