My Dad plays a game of "hide and seek" : A Tribute poem to my beloved Dad: Late George Maveli
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• My Dad plays a game of "hide and seek" :
• A Tribute poem to my beloved Dad: Late George Maveli
___________
My Dad plays a game of "hide and seek",
Though in Intensive Care since a week,
But I know He is still sleeps by my side,
He still makes me happy by elephant ride
Putting me on his bare back to continue play
Taking his strong arms to go fast or to delay
And to repeat the black elephant's game
Making me to be happier and fame
• Top from heaven I heard
• a song of love from a bird;
• A sad word from  my Lord,
• I still love you my dear Dad.
He died not too late in my hand,
but lives still in my own soft mind
I wish time wouldn't go forward,
then I would make a good reward
I try to have and repeat old memoirs,
my minds mostly turns to summaries
• Top from heaven I heard
• a song of love from a bird;
• A sad word from  my Lord,
• I still love you my dear Dad.
I wish I had my dear dad by my side
The stories I hear about ocean tide,
To my eyes it brings more and more fear
Before I had to say good-bye, a drop of tear
I wish I had more fun time with my dear
My mom lets me know how much he care
Since I was too young to have love to share
• Top from heaven I heard
• a song of love from a bird;
• A sad word from  my Lord,
• I still love you my dear Dad.
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BY
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
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NOTE: I left my dear Dad (Late George Maveli) in the hands of my Lord Jesus on Saturday 19th July @ 1630 hours Indian time. He died at the age of 89, I am his eldest Son. I regret to express to all my beloved viewers and my well wishers of Hello Poetry. I shall post my poems after a weeks period of condolence   - WILLIAMSJI MAVELI

Where do you go? When you're not here? Do you miss me? I do.

I miss the me that was without all that you are.
I miss the me before that moment when the earth stopped spinning at your hello.
I miss the me that believed in love and had not witnessed the irony of your beautiful scars.
I miss the me that didn't hurt, that rode the wave and let things be what they would.
I miss the me that never felt your touch, that never brought his lips to yours.

Now, I am consumed. Swirling within your grief at being taken, drowning within my grief at the sound of our boy's laughter.

Now I am lonely, my thoughts of you driving me further from the light and deeper into a melancholy orbit, where the only existence is within your unbeating heart.

I see you, all the time, a suggestion of the life I could have had, had the reaper played fairly, his attraction to your flame stronger than mine.

There is no regret here, I loved, deeply and without remorse, every inch of your being.

But today, I'll die a little. For you.

What can you expect?
Poetry comes from the heart.
And the heart is vulnerable.

We live in a world of lost souls and unfulfilled dreams.
Poetry just helps us stay here physically
Because we cant always be here mentally, emotionally,or spiritually.
Poetry is the reason i'm still alive.

poetry is the only escape from the nightmare we call living.

I want you to leave me alone,
To shut up and get that I don't care.
You say you don't want to hurt me,
But all your words do is scar...

I need you to leave me alone,
To no longer stand by my side.
You try to help, to be my friend,
But all you do is shrug and leave me hanging...

Please leave me alone,
I know you don't really care.
Having you pretend like you do,
Is doing nothing but tearing me a
                                                            p
                                                          a
                                                         r
                                                              *t

Can't get over
missing the first death;
we were there
for the second.

Who failed
and what failed?
What the last words?
What last thoughts
did you have
when you slipped away
that first time around?  

We were there,
but you were in coma;
eyes shut;
breathing shallow;
machines flashing
and making
their technical noise.

We were there waiting.
Waiting for you
to come around,
waiting for you
to open your eyes,
waiting for a recovery,
waiting holding
your hands and arms,
kissing your forehead,
kissing your cheek.

We waited for time to heal,
waiting to hear
your laughter,
to see your smile,
to hear your soft words
on your breath.

We waited in hope,
unknowing,
we waited for death.

then I am wearing black suit,
white shirt, black tie,
pockets full of tissues,
most crumpled, mostly used,
like my spirits

If it's 2pm,
I am in Augusta,
in a baptist church,
a nice jewish boy,
fixing his askewed tie,
doing what
The Lord commanded of him

If it's 2pm,
I am in Augusta,
sunny and 72 Farenheit,
inside of me its a different forecast,
y'all decide the condition,
the condition I'm in

I'm in the way back row,
humming so softly,
me and Johnny C.
nobody hears,
nobody cares,

She stood in the crowd and shed not a tear
But sometimes at night when the cold wind moans
In a long black veil she cries over my bones

She walks these hills in a long black veil
She visits my grave where the night winds wail
Nobody knows, no and nobody sees
Nobody knows but me

nobody knows, I am there,
nobody sees, nobody believes,
but god only knows I am here

my spirit taken here
unasked, unaided, unabated
did not have to fly,
the ship that was to take me,
busted on the rocks

for
the words that are used
to get the ship confused
will not be understood as they’re spoken
for the chains of the sea
will have busted in the night,
will be buried at
the bottom of the ocean

still
If it's 2pm,
I am in Augusta,
at a funeral,
my words gone silent,
even store bought stock phrases,
so sorry for your loss,
not for sale, all gone, all aloft,
all sold out on
this Sabbath day

If it's 2pm,
I am in Augusta,
in some form of which
not readily acquainted,
my new context a riddle,
never knew this morphosis
till now, until
it was needed,
all on that day

If it's 2:45pm
can't understand
all these people standing
over me, and the sidewalk
taste in my my mouth

it appears I appeared
on east 57th street
in my New York City,
it appears I appeared
to have
fainted dead away,
asking me not where how or when,
only why,
and I have no answers for
them or me or anybody who dare asks
a quest,
commencing and ending in
why

must have been the heat,
but decide then and there
maybe go visit
my Jordan and
my grand children