The Journey
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