A half scribbled diary
Life strings: confused and wiry
An Orkut account
An entire life to mount
An old photograph
Into real people you wish it would morph
A blood Soiled shirt
A full cycle of death and birth
An uncontested remote
Myriad tragedies to emote
A mute phone
Blood chilled to the bones
A flick of hand
A wrong turn
A crash of glass
And silence forever
With halted conversation and speechless goodbyes, they left. May God Bless them.
