There's a poem coming

Something about mountains
And voice

Conversations
Are waiting

Maybe something
About being trapped long years
And finally
Seeing a light
At the end of the tunnel

There is definitely
A poem coming

Maybe we will write it
Together

I have to admit,
I never pondered the mysteries
Of cornbread.

Mammaw fried hers
In the iron griddle
So thin and light
It tasted like
Sweet, starched lace.

Evenings like these
I regret
I never had her light touch.

Sunshine
Floated
On that griddle.

Her kitchen table
Was a magic place
I wish
I could take you there

Dream with me
We will neither one
Be hungry, thirsty or alone
Any more

pick my bones
weary broken
heartsore
up
from where life has
scattered them on the floor

dust off
the grime
and salt rime
from tears shed.
regather thoughts
from whence they fled

straighten up
the bowed back

plant the semblance
of a smile upon my face

take my place,
near the end of the rat race

and put my best foot forward
even as the other foot
drags through broken glass
and the detrius of a life
lived to hard...to fast

don't look back....
just move on.....and on

somewhere....there will be
                                 some sort of comfort

till then grind your bones
on the grist of life....

taste the salt on the wind
and remember when......

I'm reading poetry at the cremation ghat
amid chanting of God's name
while ferrying and burning the dead.

The noise unsettles me a bit
as sets me thinking of my own death
that by all means seems closer than farther.

Yet I get the relieving feel
reading poems would heal
all the agonies of my flesh
and take me to that spiritual level
where I would take death as
passing into another dimension.

I'm not much of a religious person
but have always felt devoted to my kindred
seeking transcendence through them.

The best thing I'm hoping right now
is when I burn
someone would amid chanting of God's name
read poetry at the burning ghat.

....
From womb  to born
Every morn
Each breath
Even on the road of death
I’m alone
Walking with broken bone

While the Summer wind blows
In this narrow lane
Love flows in my wide vein
As the Streams of heavy rain
Alone else
Only the past tense

In the dark, I hark
A distant bark
In the dream there was
A beautiful park
With a few sign of paws
Yet I couldn’t find any cause

The Streams going down
While flowing in this old town
The Stone grew worn and torn
Rolling else alone
Like my broken bone
.......
@Musfiq us shaleheen