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