There is always an untold story in a death,
One that trembles within to be told-
To a loved one who stood with on rain and shine.
There is always an un uttered word on a frozen lip ,
A word that would mean all meanings of a lifetime-
It floats around the room and yonder on the curtains-
Hoping relentlessly to be heard by someone -
Someone who had uttered little words of love when alive.
There is always an unheard beat in the still heart,
A small beautiful beat that falls
Only on the ears of an one who hears the beats of love.
There is always a small loosening of the skin on a rigid body ,
Expectations on the closed pores -
For one long kiss on the forehead ,
The warmth of which could be carried to the unseen lands.
A warmth ,an odor, a word and an unheard story,
Revolve round and round that house of death-
Till the knowing loving heart picks it up-
Absorbs every little nuance like a blotting paper on a wet floor
And walks away with that baggage of love for the rest of life.