The news has just come

He’s dead.

In his garden the flowers bloom

Oblivious

He’s no more.

His house breathes sorrow

He would have boarded the train today
and come back tomorrow!

Come back he will now

Whitened in frozen breath

Silently receiving
Untimely wreath!

She and their son
Brutally torn
Will enter not a house but hell
Without him but with his smell
Each object still warm
With his touch of care

And their wails
will rend the night air!