Someone very dear became a statistic
For the world a number got added to a count
What the number had added to our lives
Could never possibly be expressed and quantified
The value of one is just so misrepresented
Never fully understood till a life has ended
What has perhaps been unleashed upon humanity
Is an irrefutable, irreparable, surely irreverent curse
One where a loved one who’s sick cannot be tended to
Left with a gut wrenching feeling of sheer helplessness
No conversations, no get well soon s, no visiting hours
No pallbearers, no reassuring hugs, no shoulder to cry on
The wise shall always say that this too shall pass
Nothing good nor for that matter anything bad ever lasts
Wisdom of the world sadly doesn’t help fill the void
There’s a vacuum sans emotions, no release, no closure
A father, a husband, a brother, a friend to some is gone forever
Those who are left behind living, live on knowing the infinite value of one
