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.