Harichalum Gunichalum Onnu

The I and the mine vanish.
I see myself on the mirror.
But the portrait is not mine.

Face filled with grey hairs,
Wrinkles on the temple
The eyes, withdrawn to their holes
And pale, due to fear,
Implore at me with folded hands.

They come to my neck, in the shape of a bitch just littered, and squeeze it.

While pelting stones
When wearing crown of thrones,
The blood flow does not show any sign of pain,Rather they reflect as a wonderful piece of art.

The excruciating pain, caused by lack of air, did not affect the agonising pain of my life.

I walk swiftly,
Carrying him...