The year is a stranger
In strange future
Where dying is forbidden
And living is guaranteed
Time is irrelevant
A waste of bygone period.
Still nature has its executioners
Still there is a loop in the law
In year of strange and strangers
An end comes on sun rays bearing flowers.
The question remains
Where do the mortal
Ancestors of the immortals go
Is there a waste basket of souls?
In year of strange
The dying immortal lies alone
On his clean tidy bed
Receiving instructions for the journey
Lies to sooth the pain
The sun shines through
An electrical bulb while
It rains and thunder
A sunny end comes
A sunny end goes
A sunny end is forgotten
By immortals in hurry
Lonely souls.
November 17, 2017
