2 DAYS OF LIFE

Mother whispered stories from the start, Of the day that etched her heart. A newborn cry, her tears flowed free, Tears of joy—for that cry was me. The family gathered, throwing their bids, Choosing a name to crown her kid. A title stamped upon my brow, A world of promise awaited somehow. Then comes a day, stark and bare, When life no longer lingers there. All you owned, gone in a breath, Leaving behind a trace of death. A final paper marked my name, A hollow milestone cloaked in shame. Again, my mother’s tears would flow, Not joy this time, just sorrow's glow. Her child departed—not by flight, Nor by ship, nor wheels of might. This journey knew no engine's churn, Only silence, cold and stern. The dead, remembered briefly so, While the living hold their grief to show. They praised the child on that last day, But not when he needed it along the way. So when I leave, keep it brief, No need for shows to mask the grief. For that day holds no grand design, Let me fade from heart and mind. Life's value lies not in just two dates— The birth we hail, the death we state. But in the days of triumph untold, And the stories of a life made bold.