Poetry

In unthinkable death how do you carry 
yourself? 
An intimate dialogue with death 
Fearless, undaunted. 
I admire your grit. 
 
One thin blade, one silken noose 
but you want to face the bullet 
straight in your heart. 
The death should come instantly, because you 
want to be witness, your head falling with 
grace. 
 
Why did you chase death 
whistling on the beach, 
taunting the eccentric sky 
like muted revenge. 
 
The grave will be too small for you 
Your legs sticking out. 
Lime burning your eyes. 
Turning back the grave diggers may 
not like to face your moved earth!