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He stops to recoil
She leans forward to help him
A bluebird flies by
Silently she tries again
With air thick as smoke
Mothers cry a world away
Boys too young to fight
He opens himself to her
The battlefield rages on
Why the thought of an impending death
Stubbornly clings to me from time to time
As icicles hanging from the trees
Sending chills up through every neuron
I hear their empty rattle in my head
As rabid dogs barking at nothing
Though Shelley was full of praise
And hailed Death and Sleep as brothers
To me it is not so and will never be

Not that I am afraid to die
Nor my absence will shake the Earth out of its orbit
But it makes my thoughts break into fragments
And I find it hard to piece them together

Even if I die, my children will live as before
My husband might seek another partner
Or might pass to a new celibate state
They will never be benighted or tempest tossed
And eventually my memory shall fade
Fade away without a trace from all hearts

As I walk through the winding road
And the closer I come to the terminal
From where there is no more treading
And as time pulls the blind on my life
When the curtain falls finally and my play ends
I don’t want to leave this stage
Nor want to lose my hold
Of those hands I love and care
There are gifts still to be opened
And newer avenues to be explored

Oh, I am in love with this world
To be more true, with narcissistic ardor
I am in love with myself
I know how dangerous it is to be addicted to love

So Death, carry me in my sleep, if you must
Or sweep me away by an inundating tide
Unawares into the ocean of Eternity
Like a feather blown away by the winds!
(Inspired by the Poem- Do Not Go into that Goodnight by Dylan Thomas)

Today my mind drifts to a place
Familiar and mysterious the ocean breeze
Gushing and rippling with happiness
The waves curl and crest
On the sandy shore quietly rest
Are they free, free enough to not wave
Or are they truly bound
To the shore and the sea
Like a wild song, bound by lyrics
And the rhythmic beats

A woman, she is
Runs her own boutique
Arts and artefacts
She sources from the farthest and deepest parts of the country
Lost in the urban lands
Antique
Precious eyes
She has a penchant for the lost treasures
Restores and redecorates
In her boutique
A life
Dedicated to her only son
Young, at nine
Detected with the dreaded ‘C’
He lived his life
With all the love
Showered by his doting parents
A young boy, with a talent for paper craft
Made unusually beautiful flowers and quilled earrings
Never ever did the pain
Show on his face
Gifted child, knew his time here
Was short
Taken away at sixteen
Made most of it
A happy child
Early, one morning
He left this world
At peace, in his sleep
She lives on
The mother of the child
Finding lost treasures
From the deepest parts


🌿🌿
In their paper skin
Under the burning sun
Smile the paper flowers
In bracts, pink and white
purple or orange
Colourful red,
never fade or bleed
Evergreen in their woody homes
They fly with the wind
In their paper skin
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