Demolishing curtains will surely gladden glass
With a tiny button rose to button up experience
Of a heaving chest, full of old age, death fears.
Fears growl in the malfeasance of flesh organs
It is their dirty smell of decomposition in bones
In the phenyl smell of a dying hospital, flowers
Smelling like formaldehyde, of sickening tubes
Those carry dirty water to be emptied for money.
But the white flowers shall gladden my window yet.
My clothes shall smell of wilted flowers in pocket.
I shall keep fears on hold, this side of the window
Under a table light that reads nice smelling words
Remembering parijat flowers waiting on the earth,
Their faces down , feet up, at the crack of dawn.