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!