Drowning in the gush of tears,
we survive with our morbid fears.
While the nights seem long,
The days look busy.
Busy with the world’s presence,
We forget the mournful night.

Missing the faces that we had seen;
Promising a return to the anxious voices on the phone;
Bidding muffled farewells to the loved ones;
Waiting for the hour to strike away.

Looking at the clock expectantly,
Wishing for the day to end,
Hoping for a new morn.

A morn filled with the chirping of the birds
and not the dewy silence of mourning.

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