question

question
The silence kept asking questions I couldn’t answer.
I stuttered in front of it like the judge of the court.
Maybe it’s the trial for the final day.
I prepared for an essay justifying my death.
After the final day, people will love me and come to my home,
the place which saw all my tears.
The window I stayed in the night shouted,
“Where were you when she was drowning in the sea?”
The teddy I hugged and cried justified my death:
“She was trying to climb up from the sea, but some hands pushed her again to the sea.”
The dark creature who questioned me said loudly,
“She fell at my legs, pleading not to go.”
The paper I wrote the poems on said,
“Dear Earth, she was pleading for some hands to console her.”
The illness said I was only for her.
The pen wrote a final poem justifying death as escaping the locked room.
Then I carried the baggage of deeds to the final destination,
reached the final destination with the angel of death.
At last, I am not alone