Arun Ajmera
Nov 22, 2012      Nov 22, 2012

My head is ticking like a time bomb.
I rub the back of my hand with my cold sweaty palm.
Silently whimpering, in pain, for my mom,
I kindly ask her to bring a canola oil embalm.

As I rub the embalm at the time bomb,
I can hear a gentle soft psalm.
My life fades away as if it were nothing more than a sitcom.
I perceive my conscious escaping me, but I surprisingly feel calm.

 
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