Leafing through the pages of my diary entries, a small paper fell out. It was the poem that I had written after Baba passed away.

Cold is thy embrace, Oh,Master of all!
A phoenix reduced to mere cinerary
Every pride man have but must his fall
Thou showeth no amity,No adversary to thy name
Reduced to dust,All equality,Helpeth neither poverty nor fame!

Every being face but must the same consequence,
That of ultimate resignation to decadence.
Power, none in the world can stop thy Invasion,
None can conquer ever the law of creation!

All-pervading and eternal art thou,
Every soul a mere mortal with the passing of time,
Oh,master of all, who commeth like the dark cloud,
IMMORTALITY,indeed is thine!

I sat down to write- the only mode I found effective enough to vent my feelings, my grief.

Dear diary,

As usual Ved left all angry and pissed today. But tell me diary, she shouldn't expect me to recover from grief so soon right?Why does everybody think I am depressing?I am coping with it my own way, Taking my own time.Isn't it atleast my right to ask for atleast this if nothing else from life?I guess Ill stop now.Have a long day ahead tomorrow!"

Switching off the lights, I drifted off to sleep. That was the night I dreamt of happier times in childhood with Dad.

The End

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