Manoj Bansal

The Man, Who Died

The death turns the home to silent island,
what left,
HIS DIDS
as memory band,

Like
A man suddenly lost in forest,
he is in front,
doing neverlasting
rest,

I remembr the days,
the days
that has my rides on his shoulder,
THINGS CHANGED,
He is on my shoulder..BLANK, BREATHLESS, DEAD,

The Lady,
whom
He promisd to BE WITH ALWAYS,
whom
He MARRIED,
Her half world is gone,
She is emotionaly alone,

For the little boy,
the finger that helped, taking first step,
is GONE,
Hands, that holds all the time,
not there ANYMORE,

The
young man's
tears gone dry,
coz he looses man, most rely,

Sometime,
it haunted me
What we are crying FOR? ?
Someday,
each of us steps in death DOOR,

He is gone,
still around,
like wall,
we pray, for mistakes forgive all,

We burnt him right there,
right in front of my
EYES,
Grandfather is dead, thats the truth,
A truth bitter then LIES.

Poem Submitted: Thursday, April 1, 2010

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