/1975/ My mother died,
And forever cold she burned: cremated
No ceremony, no final goodbye,
Her will leaving me uncompensated.
Alone but for her ashes in the urn,
Which sometimes buzzed like bees and wheezed like breath,
I kept it shut until the day I learned,
That she would be my burden even after death.
Now every day I lift that hideous lid,
Remove the tiny skeleton within,
And place screeching in its awful stead,
Held by the tail, still in its fleshy skin,
A freshly caught rat / Hungry ash covers,
The dead too devour their living lovers.

I want to cry and weep,
Hate the world and streets.
Find the direction spread,
Filled with humorous cracks.
Tears provoke me again,
Becomes the second shelly.
Feed me in the blossom,
I request my lord.
Your creations mockut,
For thy loveliest child,
Metiril of pride and anger.
Make me colorful ashes,
Buried, no burn makes me immortal,
Under of horiziner of sky.

I had a desire to travel
across the ocean and
explore the deserts.
But how long
will I scrape your memories
to fly with my severed wings?

Will you help me
in getting the ashes of this body
so that when the storm comes,
I can whisper my last words
and travel far away,
drifting for eternity
around the globe.

You are like a deep breath
After spending years gasping for air
You are the brightest of days
After weathering months of storms
You are peace after a seemingly never ending war

But you’re not the air I breathe
I can do that on my own
But how nice is it to know that your breath can be synonymous with my own
To know this is ours to share

I mentioned your every shadow in my poem
And was struggling for your catch

But you were strange,
Strange by my words
which became ashes for you

Perhaps, ashes are my feelings now.