Death comes knocking on the door, unannounced-

a reminder to the waned residents.

Tho, itself, an unwelcomed guest that hounds-

lingers as the clock finally outruns.

Time allotted, yet shorter seemed the hours,

and fear that hovered, now grips the soul.

Life seeps out counting the fonds and the scars-

few memories and few tears will roll.

The act plays on after the curtain call

with a new chapter of an episode.

The director writes the script on the wall

in His language so filled with art and ode.

Tho now you are a body, not a name-

fizz may go but the fire will remain.

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About Rahul Aithal

I am from Mumbai, India. Composing poems gives me immense pleasure. Few poetic sites I write on are -,, and, recently Avant-Garde-Writer's Haven (on Facebook). You could browse my other writes on my private blog, I am glad to have joined this site, thanks to Louis. I hope to add value and get the group going.

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