The curtain quietly rustles in the taunting silence
Bearing no mocking shadows to bridge the distance
For death is certainly the ultimate solemn toast
There’s no getting back of even a faintest ghost!
Nothing but a fading smell that’s not really much
Other than the living one’s yearning for a touch
For words left unsaid and relations that never grew
Alas no rewinding, a once more living through!
The leaves on the grave rustle in the taunting silence
The gnawing pain inside, no phantom lessens!
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 5:08 AM UTC
The curtain quietly rustles in the taunting silence
Bearing no mocking shadows to bridge the distance
For death is certainly the ultimate solemn toast
There’s no getting back of even a faintest ghost!
Nothing but a fading smell that’s not really much
Other than the living one’s yearning for a touch
For words left unsaid and relations that never grew
Alas no rewinding, a once more living through!
The leaves on the grave rustle in the taunting silence
The gnawing pain inside, no phantom lessens!
when moved the curtain without a wind!
Request permission to use this poem