Your silver hair not receding.
The nostrils blare open
For what? the air could be gasped in
Trapped in your glass coffin.
Shirt so white, I remember notes underlying
Which no more.
Your paunch bigger than I ever imagined.
Stare in luminosity.
Magically, if staring, could upheave a breath of air, out your system.
Magically, if touching, could transcend your stone cold legs, to walk.
Magically, if imagining, could transpose 7 years of struggle.
To finally rest you in peace, Thatha.