Time had evaporated into the dingy air of the hospital
Day merged to night, night to day.
Sleep turned to endless bouts of prayer and whispering into your ear. Whispering that it wasn't your time yet,
That everyone was waiting for you to come back.
All that came back to my ears
were the incessant beep of machinery
Machinery that was your lifeline,
that kept your beautiful heart beating.
Coiled and crimped tubes running in and out of your body
And you looked frighteningly ethereal;
A ghostly angel in the place of my sister.
A tangle of exterior veins; pumping foreign liquids into you
And though I loathed the thought of those cold substances
Stealing away the warmth from your blood, they kept you safe.
They ushered you away
From that distant white shore,
We have come to call death.
Until one day they simply could not save you any longer.
But there was a lingering flame
Amongst the grief that was waiting to pounce
Because? You were fighting.
Like a soldier you were fighting,
With your bare hands struggling against the predator called death.
You fought with every last ounce of will in your body,
Until God called your name,
And you grew your wings, and you left.
Visitors come and go
An endless flurry of desperate hugs
Fairy-like kisses upon my cheek; soaked, saturated in tears.
Because that was the first time,
I had ever felt absolutely, completely, powerless.
I was shrinking back into a shell of myself,
Speak when spoken to I reminded myself.
And through the night I would choke back my fear,
And I sang to you. Childhood melodies.
And they seemed so far away; out of my grasp.
I clutched a strangers hand
Your hand, was delicate and soft
This hand was swollen; foreign.


But I didn’t let go. Not yet.
I ran my hand through your hair,
And I didn’t get the scent, of lavender and soap.
I retched. Inhaling something harsh.
Because as I put one finger to your head,
It came away with blood.
Still.
You layed so, so, still.
Your chest rising and falling; with breaths that weren’t yours.
And I still,
Still, read you stories and talked to you-
In that scarce hope that you would wake up,
And I could hug you for real.
Not having to heave myself over you;
Being delicate, in fear of choking you.
But I still hoped.
God, I hoped with everything in me that you would make it.
I prayed on my knees,
Screaming in a silent room that,
I would abandon my faith- if God stole you from me.
And yet, stolen from me you were.
The doctors were hopeless,
Reminding us- the damage is irreversible.
If not today, you would die tomorrow.
But I would not desert you.
I still hoped.
I hoped.
I kept hoping.
And the next day came.


The day before you died.
The white sun broke through the window,
Embraced the room and clarified.
The shadows that the limbs,
Of the simple oak tree make on the hospital wall;
Stark and bellowing.
The leaves are all gone.
The leaves and the colour are gone.
The tree is devoid of youth and joy;
And in the tree- I see you.
It hurts.
You are the mannequin of a sleeping girl.
But the heaviness of you,
As though your insides have turned to lead.
I believe it is lucid now,
A dying girl.
Trapped in a coma.
Tomorrow, you’ll be gone.

My sister’s eyes are closed.
I pull her closer,
Inhale what remnants of her pure scent is left.
I want to hold her, In this world.
Keep her close,
Let her never to leave- not yet.
Her hair brushes my cheek.
She is still sleeping-
Why is she still sleeping?
And then,
I begin to cry
I do not stop,
And I lay my sister down.

On the white sheet.
My sister,
Her eyes flutter open.
And sees shadows,
Sparrows on the wall.
Flocking to the naked limbs of the simple oak tree.
She smiles,
A small, beautiful smile.
And she points to the shadows on the wall and says


“It’s okay now, look, the leaves are returning to the tree.”

The water on the runways bubbling as it suffers too,

A father at a young age juggling what the mothers do,

Playing dumb, days to duck, memory will come if it blows up the rhyme,

Waking up, take the cut, check to see the son if he woke up on time,

He runs up with a zoom on the one-day smile when,

The sun is in his in room as his son lays silent,

He takes him up his hugs as he breathes upon the breathing,

He wakes him with a nudge and then sees his son is bleeding,

Half the dream is live pacing with water bloodless in the hells roamed,

Panicking and mind racing, the father rushes to the cell phone,

While he cries in fallen hells with the one hidden meaning,

And he tries to call him help but his son isn’t breathing,

The wisdom of the house where the fun cost a friend,

He gives him mouth-to-mouth as his son coughs again.

~

I kiss my wife and kiss their heads,

I’ll give my life and give my breath,

A bit advice with bliss in death,

You never see it coming,

I miss the lights and **** the bed,

I live to fight and live to bless,

A friend of mine is missing next,

And dead or free and running.

~

Racing through the house as it thunders on the farm with hoops to slam and head below,

Wading through the crowds with a wonder in his arms like Superman but better bro,

Playing with guns at ease in a box of wetter shirts,

Begging his son to breathe as the coughs are getting worse,

The weather’s always something like the books in a peer review,

He never saw it coming as he looks in the rearview,

The one day he failed at the doors of necropolis,

His son’s face is pale like a horse in apocalypse,

He plays the game of life with the water bound for peering still,

He begs to stay alive as his father pounds the steering wheel,

Walk through truth and madness with a hundred sins today,

Caught in loops of traffic as his son begins to fade,

The rational will thank me with a coffin to hunt for,

He wraps him in a blankie and he walks him in the front door.

~

Muse of a rose where the hunt’s leading fellows,

Tubes in his nose and his son’s breathing shallow,

Kiss his eyes and more for me when there’s nothing there,

Live the life an orderly on a rocking chair,

The water wets the bones of the blind with the dumb laws leading,

The father checks his phone for the time and his son stops breathing,

The sadness in his eyes is a prize from the blind,

He panics and he cries as he tries one more time,

Bloodiest of bloods and every ring to wear,

Nothing that he does and everything to fear,

A fading joy’s pride to his moms in a better room to dance,

His baby boy died in his arms and he never knew the chance,

The man that ends an answer with a very fun painting,

He stands against the cancer with his buried son’s blankie.

~

I kiss my wife and kiss their heads,

I’ll give my life and give my breath,

A bit advice with bliss in death,

You never see it coming,

I miss the lights and **** the bed,

I live to fight and live to bless,

A friend of mine is missing next,

And dead or free and running.

Flowers in my hands, now they are dying
Right here in front of you, with my head, bowing
Eyes looking down, for they are swelling
Now I'm in front of a gravestone, with my eyes, staring

Till Death Do Us Apart, you said
The accident happened last year so you're now dead
But until now I can't move on
Always looking up at the stars, waiting for you til' dawn

This necklace you gave me
I know you're the one who made it sweetie
Written my name, with a heart at the end
That's when I felt that I was a lucky girlfriend

I want to accept the fact
But my heart don't want to act
Now I can't take it anymore
Wait for me, mi amor

When I share two or three days of the week to compose poetry I find myself on the
exam session when severe merciless teachers ask us to write about “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard!”
Elegies mostly are unprepared and never find time to turn to the appropriate types!
They ask me on and on...and I ask them in the consulting area that how can we turn my blossomy song to elegies unwritten about the parish of those people, long time ago had been lost exactly on the exam time?
How could you expect me to turn my naïve feeling to one of the catastrophic ones?
>
<
>
time is over
time is up
time is running
time flies
>
<
>
Teachers shout, “ HURRY UP” when will they shut up?
  I usually haunt by the bundle of words and circled with tumults of ideas as shining and variable as stars that like the savage river rush out to make me drowned. Very rarely I could find a way to breathe out. Elegies swirling randomly again and again to pose the question about whom shall we very soon defined, Mum?  
>...O darlings...<
…motionless corpse, wandering ghost, dead people around,
>.. not stars..<
>...O… no..<  
Is there anybody nowadays to think about the “Country Churchyard” and elegies very appropriate to them at all, what a destiny! what a force! while a long time ago they were bestowed to the grand history of all mankind.
O…no…
Poor elegies remain unborn and sad in my thought…not forever…
they laugh…and laugh…I can hear them, time is over and I’m a failure.
<
<
<

The blank sheet is going to be filled by songs wearing the long red robe of emotional loves or lust…they are tired of black mourning cloth of demise!
they laugh
and
laugh and
laugh
since
>
<
I 'm a murderer…tapping with dirk ….or strangling with a heavy rope of my heart….bloodshed everywhere: drops from my fingers to the height.  shout, scream and cry, they were innocent,  don' t want to die.  I can hear them.
>
<
They are killed not to stay further in a cemetery of churchyard but to be born with a new style, either failure or corrupt…

.
Dear Pablo, as I look over
my soaking body, wet, with patches
of dirt, blotched and raw bleeding,
the clouds turn in my yellowed eyes
in order to love you, my Pablo.  
You, who made me feel radiant.  
As I am the sea,  I fish for you,
rolling in mud, and becoming
mountain, I topple for your toes
who'd dig in deep and itch my aching

breast to sleep.  My dreamful-drowsy
birds, rake the skies, rush-out like nets
wanting you on their wings, my poem.
Pablo, I loved you so when you said,
my flowers were little stars to pick,
and that loneliness was a train who waits
in a far-away station, and how, my most
minuscule attributes — a cat, a pear,
the atom, you praised, in odes, heaped
like showers hailed from heaven, as fresh-

water you reigned from the other side
of tears, and temper'd my salt, my green,
murky life.  Dearest Pablo, since you've gone,
my breath has the emptiness that hides under
stone.  And the blue-winds crossing, my life-
less age, they are nothing but long waves,
keening,   —  Nay   —  rood   —   ahhh!
Since you have left me.  And my trees,
they forget how to grow,
my song, my only,
Pablo.
.