An orphan and a widow left behind.

A Poem by ArpitaChetan

Solitude somehow found its way out,
Tears of loss silenced among cowardly shout.
The girl, probably five or small ,
Her mother, crying across the hall.
None yet touched the body hung from the ceiling high,
Murmurs, rants, sobs and sigh.
The corpse of a father and husband hung
By the ropes that last summer had shrunk.
Humungous death cladded in cloaks of recession struck,
Not a penny to live on, no dollar and no buck.
An orphan, a widow to lament left behind,
To make it worse, bills, payoffs and loans twined.
It was easier for them to die as well
Harder was it to live, stay on, hope and dwell.
The widow took a look at the last night's plates they dined,
Ambivalence now veiled the widow's mind.
It was easier to light the house,to cut a wrist
Or gulp down poison, but wait there is a twist.
Only she wished, wished her husband had not died,
For two long hours she continuously cried.
Now for the hundredth time asked the child,
"What happened to daddy?" In a voice so mild.
The mother took a look at the child's face,
Committing suicide will b a disgrace.
Hard times are temporary, they will pass by.
The daughter is their love's sign.
For her,she has to live,she can't die.
Situations r worst,will be worse then bad,its a clime.
Life has to go on,its a climb,
Life is worth euros, not cents or dime!!!