She met me as I was dying
And said "don't go"
That's an odd thing to tell someone
Who is already belted for the ride
I smiled and told her, the countdown has begun
"I have nothing to remember you by", she said
I am leaving you the tin box,
One that contains all my poems,
Hold them, read them,
Air them like you would air your sarees
These poems contain more of me
Than my everyday self did
They explore the vision,
They explode my war,
They decode my words,
They encode my journey
One day, long after today,
These papers will melt into dust
"These poems shall become mine, ", she said,
"I will appropriate them,
I could not lock you down ever,
This tin box shall be forever sealed."
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