Deceased

One morning, he will not wake up. 

Everything will seem the same, but something will be amiss. 

You will laugh, but without a smile. 

Your tears will be wiped, but not dried. 

That morning, he will not wake up. 

And yet, you will not realise it. 

There will be no warmth in the hug, 

No contentment in sharing, 

And no pain in parting.

He didn't wake up that morning,

He will be gone, 

When there is no excitement left, 

That's when you will realise, 

Alas. Love didn't wake up that morning. 

One morning, love didn't wake up. 

And it didn't matter. 

Because you will not realise it. 

But his absence will be felt,

Only after a few days,

Gradually, and slowly. 

When there is no good in goodnight,

When it's hollow care,

And when feelings are expressed out of habit. 

That he had been growing weak for long,

And he died a slow death that night.