A writer is immortal.

Perhaps we are not afraid of death 

We are just afraid of memories, 

That will slowly fade away from hearts

We once conquered for centuries.

May be we are not afraid of our nonexistence 

We are just afraid about our name,

And whose gonna remember us 

When we will be hanged in just a frame. 

That’s why an author puts his name

On the book he write for ages,

So that after he dies 

The reader will feel his devotion in pages.

And for just that fleeting moment 

It’s as though we have beaten death,

That In the whisper of those words 

We have taken one more breath.

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