The silence spoke loudly
I cringed at my folly
How can the dead talk?
But who am I to judge?
As the digits remind me
The birth of a dead person,
The irony strikes me hard -
I keep wondering should I cry
Or should I shove him into
The bottomless abyss of fugue?
Birth and death are but
Two phases of the jaunt
Life is nothing but an inn,
The journey has to go on
Birthdays mark days of arrival
The exits marked by funeral
For if there is an entry,
Be ready to go away
For life is nothing but an inn
The soul has now moved on...
Picture Courtesy: Google Images