He was supposed to be there at the wedding & recite the sehra he'd been writing for one year. You seriously don't realize what you have until it's gone.

Innalilahi wa inna ilaihi rajiuún.

To him we belong to & to him is our return.

This isn't very good, at all, but it still means alot to me.

He wrote in the days when the money was hard,

Putting down himself but never the pen,

He wrote of his pains, he wrote of his smiles,

And when he fell, he got back up, and started writing again.

He wrote in the days he saw his daughter smile,

A beautiful bride in bloom,

And he wrote of what he had loved & lost,

He let the memories loom.

He wrote in the days he fell sick to the bone,

Losing hope & dreams,

He wrote about the dismal days,

Fear bursting out the seams.

He wrote about his first grandchild,

The shine that lit up his eyes,

He wrote about what he had gained,

Shirking all the lies.

And when they closed his eyes forever,

They read his little book,

An unfinished piece of a final writing,

Shattering every look.

He wrote as they lied,

He wrote as he died.

He wrote down a legend,

He wrote his goodbye.

May Allah ta'la grant you with forgiveness & mercy, and may you live in our hearts forever. May you rest in peace, Phuppa Jan. I love you.