"icu" poems
My mother used to bake cookies with me when I was young
Intricate designs of colored icing that varied with the seasons.
They were always perfect and looked far to good to suffer the crime of eating.
For half a century I always baked cookies for the holidays
Whilst my children grew tall and independent with no apparent
Interest in baking
As the pale blue winter light falls into my kitchens I see myself
Cutting shapes and painting colors a silhouette on the shadows of the wall.
Placing the last cookie into a Christmas scene can I
Arive at the hospital and sit next to her in the ICU
I see her frailness the alarm in her eyes as she recognises me
But is yet unable to enunciate her thoughts.
Silence as loud as thunder fills the room the seams of the walls are stretched to their limits.
The outer limits beep of the monitor acknowleging her heartbeats
Counting down each one until the last.
I miss our intimacy in that long ago kitchen
And the random thought enters my mind
I am her only child and she is my only mother.
The monitor rings an alarm a code blue
Signalling the end of her like the end of a football match.
I feel the loss of her like a razor blade cutting my flesh.
And as I leave her for the last time
There seems to be a a mortality in the measured unknown days ahead and the cans of cookies yet to be baked.
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 2:04 PM UTC
I twist and turn,
Suffle in my
Hospital bed.
The drum of
The dextrose drops,
Plays as the background
For my despondent lulluby.
Clickering and clackering;
The white feet
On the frozen
Hospital floor
Feature the vocals
Of the weeping relatives
I do not know.
A chorus
Of morose songs
That bellow
From the valley
Of faded faces
Dulls the senses
Of the patients
In the ICU.
Doctors wearing
White garbs
With darkened eyes
Whisper to each other
Like a cult gathering
With prayers
And curses
On their lips.
They appear
To me
Like snakes
On the tree
Throwing sins
And travesties
To the
Invalid saints.
I, fight fervently
Against sleep.
Although almost
Twenty-four,
Am a child
Again.
A child who
Detests sleep
Like the plague
That took me.
In this hospital bed
I start my vigil;
A pilgrim to zion
Daunted by
The task before him.
Beset on all sides
By treasures
And trinkets
That would
Want him stray.
My eyes serve
As the lamp
To which
My body,
A servant,
Keeps alight.
In wait
For the return
Of the master.
An encounter
To rekindle
The bond
In childhood.
A chance
To decide
Which fashion
It will end.
So eyes,
Stay alight,
For your oil
Will only
Last one night;
Keep the fight.
Despondency
May fill these
Final moments
But at the moment
Of the master's
Return
The chorus
Of faded faces
Will turn into
Choirs of angels
And there;
Sleep.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 8:42 AM UTC
we were at the hospital the other day
on acid
saw some people
that looked
subhuman
started thinking those thoughts
like
how i would **** them
and get rid of
all of them
the acid talking
i breathed
and stepped out of the hospital to breathe
no smoking sign
telling me i can't do that
right here
fresh air
is near
over here
by the flowers
i smoked
a girl with purple hair
around me
very near
"is that your peoples?"
no no no
laughing
i don't know why
he thought she was with me
we were just staring
fading
tripping
the flowers looked 3D
the bee inside
looked like some **** from planet earth
i heard it there first
my first trip
a visit
to see a friend
struggling to breathe
while we smoke out front
walked into icu with a blunt
celebrating life
thinking about memories
and how they make us
rely
on what we know
and remember
to tell us the future
but
it's really what we make it
we can create new
break down barriers
break down the walls
make new paths
in the brain
heal
recover
breathe stronger the next day
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 3:24 AM UTC
yesterday my feet rested comfortably on the bar of someone else's chair
and my eyelids slid heavy and the world seemed slow
a graph of survivorship curves glowing blurry on the whiteboard
and then words slid from behind a neatly trimmed white beard
". . . .as our bodies are programmed to die."
as our bodies are programmed to die.
*thousands of miles away
one gleaming thought against a murky sky
(that's how i imagine it anyway--murky, cold,
stagnant air)
a frantic explosion of lean muscle power
and a body launching into the lake.
he was 17 and in that moment gears somewhere in this world shifted,
numbers were crunched and
some profound device processed the seconds, linking and unlinking them with an automatic, well-oiled certainty
he was 17 and the number on his football jersey suited him like wool socks on winter feet
his stride under the lights a weekly prize to all hungry, bleacher-ed, washed-up life-hunters bundled against october-night chill-streaked skies
they drank hot cocoa and he took three sips of gatorade
he was 17 and his smile
and his curls
and we all hear about hospitals but
this feels different because
he was 17 and suddenly,
instantaneously
his body was just a beep
and his skin turned the color of the walls
first the ICU painted quick brushstrokes across his wrists
then it stopped giving a **** at all
and the water rushed endlessly, heartlessly.
when I shift through memories and
find his seven-year old face in my mind, i remember a gap
where he'd lost a front tooth and i remember sunlight streaming behind his hair
it was valentine's day and he gave me a small smile and a silver charm bracelet in a powder blue box.*
i shifted my feet
heard the snap of a binder closing
and all i could think about was
the oversimplification of words
and survivorship curves
and 17 years
and
and
piles of numbers spurting from a computer
and an echo of a splash.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 4:32 PM UTC
So many lies from her to me
please don't tell him I'm pregnant
I was ***** she told the clinic
and me
the baby seems big for three months.....
but clinics get money for this
and charities give grants
they don't ask too many questions
6 hrs crying and screaming
till they chopped it up and ****** it through
a young doctor panicking
haven't destroyed one this big before have you you ****
took a long hooked thing to really mess the wee thing up
I saw it's dead eyes in the pan
her dead eyes
half-open and in a silent scream
where is the ******* dad? The nurse whispered..
somewhere ****** I said, I'm just her pal.
Dad didn't want a small thing in his life
my hands bled from her nails
and this felt right
my heart bled despair for her and the mess in the pan
took her home in a taxi suspicious eyes on us, huddled smelling of sweat and blood, no clean-up
she wanted to stay as soiled as she felt
Year later in another room
couldn't *** she wouldn't let me leave her
got a urinary infection holding on
longer this time
thirteen hours of pain and fright
no-one seemed to care again
on a trolly in the cold where is the magic
where is the ******* dad? A nurse whispered..
somewhere ****** I am just her pal.
twisting my hands
she bit my face wanting a kiss as she pushed so hard
the midwife dropped him halfway up her belly
I dragged him to her face
let go the doctor shouted
told him to shut up or **** off
got yellow baby **** and blood in my mouth
wanted doctor blood too
tasted sweet somehow tasted of alive
took 83 sedatives that night her sister found me in ICU
hard to die swap me for the wee dead one
I'm ****** she would have been special saw her face
She would have been 14 yrs old today
Jan 17, 2011
Jan 17, 2011 at 2:39 PM UTC
Have you ever loved someone with
bird bones
paper thin skin
irises like pooling blood on a tile floor
Have you ever loved someone who
wears their heart on their sleeve in the way of a tattoo
Have you ever loved someone like
you wish their arms had heavy locks so that
you could keep them wrapped around you
until you grew tired of their embrace
Have you ever loved someone like
dripping IV bags
ICU at 2 am
Ever loved someone like
laying on the carpet in pain
watch the shadows on their face change
see the door open and close
these days the sunlight always looks the same
Ever loved someone like
dark circles under their eyes
Ever loved someone like
you wish to wear them like a necklace
have them tied up in a locket
Ever loved someone like
I would take a bullet for you
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 10:52 AM UTC
Two weeks ago I got in an accident while mountain biking. I broke my collar bone and fractured my sternum. Abrasions covered my back, my hip had a puncture wound that turned into a hematoma and was swollen 2inches (I couldn't wear pants for a full week). I hit the ground with such force that air was forced out of my lungs and into the sack around my heart. I spent 18 hours in the ICU and three more days in the hospital after.
A long time ago I crashed. I crashed after you left. My ribs were caving in and making it hurt to breath, my cheeks burned, I swore to god my heart was never going to be okay again. The pain in my chest was incredible. The worst pain I have ever felt was when you left.
I flew over my handle bars two weeks ago and rolled down the mountain and still your absence hurts me more.
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 7:44 PM UTC
I’m thinking about the doctor's hands shaking as she
struggles to intubate a cat.
I’m thinking about the technician's hands squeezing the cat’s rib cage,
pulsing life with a delicate force; she is much more gentle than
practitioners are with humans—
hard and quick down with the palms; the ribs snapping,
the sternum sore.
Some time ago an 80-year-old woman on my unit was
opened up bedside for a cardiac procedure during a code.
After a week in ICU, she came back to us on the unit, was up and
walking and talking, and was discharged home within another week.
Meanwhile, the 60-year-old man was dead in the morgue
after a 45-minute code failed to resuscitate him.
The flip of the coin. The thin line. The blessing or the curse.
The absolute darkness of a body bag. The cold chill of absolute zero.
The fresco painted on the catacomb walls could either depict the
light of the sun or the multicolored lights that the
brain shoots off minutes before death.
The eleventh hour,
isn’t that what it’s called?
We don’t want to talk about body care, death care.
We have to, but it won’t register.
After a loss, after a trauma,
we are on autopilot.
I think of my mother,
six feet beneath frozen soil in
a pink padded casket and think:
I don’t want that.
I think of the prearranged plots my grandparents picked out
next to her in an above ground crypt and think:
I don’t want that.
Bacteria still causes decay after the embalming process.
Putrefied flesh. Bones visible. Muscles eaten. Tissues disintegrated.
We don’t talk about it.
We try to think the opposite. The positive vs the negative.
(But that’s not always possible or healthy.)
I’m thinking about hands inserting IVs, hands taking
blood pressures, hands documenting the code notes
on a clipboard in the back of the room.
I couldn’t do these things.
My hands tend to break what they touch.
The glass bowl in the pet store.
The clay project in art class.
The succulents, the basil, the orchid.
I’m good at things I don’t have to think about:
good at the autopilot, good at the autonomic,
good at trauma.
Nov 19, 2020
Nov 19, 2020 at 2:47 AM UTC
*(A message to you
Inspired by the THR Family)*
You came to us sick, frightened, confused
What happened next became international news.
We saw you so ill, with everything to lose
Our goal was to help you because that’s what we do.
Alone in a dark ICU room
We fought for your life, our team and you.
We cared for you kindly
No matter our fear
You thanked us each time that we came near.
As each day pressed on, you fought so hard
To beat the virus that dealt every card.
No matter how sick or contagious you were
We held your hand, wiped your tears, and continued our care.
Your family was close, but only in spirit
They couldn't come in; we just couldn't risk it.
Then the day came we saw you in there
We wiped tears from your eyes,
knowing the end was drawing near.
Then it was time, but we never gave up
Until the good lord told us he had taken you up.
Our dear Mr. Duncan, the man that we knew
Though you lost the fight, we never gave up on you.
All of us here; at Presby and beyond
Lift our hats off to you, now that you’re gone.
You touched us in ways that no one will know
We thank you kind sir for this chance to grow.
May you find peace in heaven above
And know that we cared with nothing but love.
*~ postscript.
this poem is not mine; it was penned by a nurse who wishes to remain anonymous. it spoke to me of the passion with which so many, many caregivers serve, so i wanted to share it with you, and in so doing salute each of those who serve us all in the medical community.
the following was published by ABC News on 10/20/14:
"The last nurse to leave the hospital room where Thomas Eric Duncan died has written a poem about the Ebola patient, penned during the sleepless days after Duncan's death, a source told ABC News.The Associated Press. The source provided the poem to ABC News, noting that the nurse who wrote it asked to remain anonymous. Duncan, the first person in the United States to be diagnosed with Ebola, died at the Dallas hospital on Oct. 8. Two of the nurses who cared for Duncan -- Nina Pham, 26, and Amber Vinson, 29, have been diagnosed with Ebola.(Editor's note: THR refers to Texas Health Resources, the company that owns Texas Health Presbyterian Hospital.)"*
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 3:06 AM UTC
Dear Poet Friends, this short poem was composed during the Summer
of 2010, and posted on ‘Poemhunter.com’. Hope you like it. Thanks.
WHEN YOU CATCH THAT FEVER!
When the body temperature exceeds the normal,
You know you have got the fever on you.
High fever can get you in a delirium,
And even inside the ICU!
One must guard oneself from the Summer’s sun,
Take precaution from exhaustion and heat.
Wear dark glasses and use a parasol,
And sun-tan lotion makes the picture complete.
‘Prevention is half the cure’, is an old saying which
is true!
With cool butter milk and iced lemonades, -
You can keep that heat off you!
Now there is another type of fever, more potent
than that ‘Swine Flu’!
It can strike you anywhere and anytime,
And you cannot take adequate precautions too!
When your heart starts to beat faster, -
And a fever rages all inside.
You get melancholic and delirious, -
When someone calls the doctor by your bedside!
But when no temperature gets recorded,
And the doctor looks all concerned!
For you have caught the 'Love’s Fever', -
Oh, what a lovely way to burn!
-Raj Nandy, New Delhi
(Comments from Fay Slims, a senior & a veteran poet from
Cornwall, SW England:- “Raj, catching that fever is never
avoided by those who have given their heart!”)
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 9:24 AM UTC
had a picture of dad on my nightstand
it fell not too long ago
but landed upright
atop his shoe shine box that I kept
its new position not precarious
I let it stay there
thought it was kinda fitting
a picture from his older years
taken in the kitchen
looking up into the camera
from the task at hand
peeling boiled potatoes
for potato salad
my potato peelin' pop
morning sun shine spot lights that picture
warm, smiling, reassuring
mom's back in ICU now
transferred to rehab with high hopes
bleeding, unresponsive
cardiac arrest en route back to ER
x-rays, CT scans
transfusions, blood draws, ventilator
endoscopy?
colonoscopy?
dialysis?
quality of life questions
the more I watch her
the more I wonder
How I wish pop could tell us what to do
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 4:40 AM UTC
On a busy downtown corner
As the traffic passes by
Stands a man with a cardboard sign
Can't seem to look me in the eye
But he's going to live, forever, somewhere
So help me God
I've got to show him
How much you care
At a big bank on wall street
With its fancy marble floors
Walks in a man in a business suit
As his chauffeur holds the door
But he's going to live, forever, somewhere
So help me God
I've got to show him
How much you care
Every face that I pass by
I see you on the cross
Bearing all our guilt and sin
Not one of us should be lost
I'm going to take this message
Of love that I've found
And somehow share it with this world
So help me God
In a courtroom with its wooden chairs
Sits a little boy and girl
Their mom and dad are fighting
Their little eyes so scared
But their going to live, forever, somewhere
So help me God
I've got to show them
How much you care
On the third floor up in ICU
With a bandage on his head
He may not make it till tomorrow
Was the last thing the doctor said
But he's going to live, forever, somewhere
So help me God
I've Got to show him
How much you care
Every face that I pass by
I see you on the cross
Baring all my guilt and sin
Not one of us should be lost
I'm going to take this message
Of love that I've found
And somehow share it with this world
So help me God
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 5:22 AM UTC
A different kind of cold settled
in them as they poured through the door
into the bleak grandiosity of the lobby.
A group of grievers:
Her ashen husband and their two daughters, 12 and 20,
Her two sisters dressed in black fleece
and Her mother with freshly bruised knees.
The night was agonizingly short once they arrived.
Prayer and hope for rehabilitation
between questions about resuscitation.
Her mother clung to the cruel Almighty
While Her husband clenched his fists at the chaplain.
A Stroke of an instant induced a transformation of lives
as Hers ended beneath the blinding fluorescence.
Dec 3, 2011
Dec 3, 2011 at 4:03 AM UTC
He reads and watches.
When he gets this phone call.
Wife in the ICU.
His mirrored face is shattered on the sideline.
Hair matted against his forehead,
From the same dream every night.
Let his mirrored tears falls to the ground and shatter on the sideline.
Watch everything live on.
Let him not let go.
Will he come around to watch the game?
Will he ever come around the right corner?
Falls to the ground.
And we all listen to his screams be shattered on the sideline.
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 9:00 AM UTC
My heart flat lined today.
No ICU needed.
it's the only way to go on.
Transformer Cimi Death my other name says my Mayan zodiac
birth chart and I go flat,
in a terrible amnesic shock.
when reality hits I no longer remember nor feel pain
I am sustained by a strange
heart rhythm beat.
I did it once before
very long time ago and
it worked for years.
phychogenic amnesia
There's no feeling no love
no hate no hope no dreams
no waiting for love to be real.
No bridal chambers no gold key
exists to open this gold lock.
My cave of wonders is sealed.
In essence it's another
kind of passing on.
I need it here,
not to stay flat on line.
~~~~~~
By: KArijinbba
8--2021
Aug 26, 2021
Aug 26, 2021 at 2:29 AM UTC
Your sleek real smooth
How you sleeked into me
Into my mind,I shared my thoughts
Into my body,this fingers sinned forth
Into my soul,this fragile broken frost
We played games different games though
I played wanting only you
You played wanting the whole crew
Only I couldn't see we were playing differently
Only I was borderline stupid to fall this hard
Even this nose ring didn't hurt this much
Neither did this tattoo no not this much
What is it your looking for?
What is it you want from this crew?
All this hate that was spewing from this crew
You knew the reason,while I was hanging on being love struck(stupid)
You just sent me to this ICU bed like my twin
You just plucked me off your bed of lies
Spero tu ottenere che cosa tu siamo ricerca per
I really did love you but its time for me to wake up
Don't worry I'll remove your thorns from my back
You just turn this heart into stone
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 9:56 AM UTC
Sunny day in June, the tenth to be exact
The horrible day my sister was attacked
Beth was in the house, her friend Mark outside
She was cleaning,he in the yard kept with pride
Beth Anne was on hands and knees scrubbing the floor
When she heard real gunshots, at least she swore
Snuck to the window and peered out with care
On the rocky driveway, saw Mark sprawled out there
Been shot three times in his back,lay in his blood
Beth saw her ex...with a .38 he stood
While terrified, behind the aquarium she ducked
Brad blundered in dressed in hunters camouflage- ****
Her heart hammering in her ears, bursts of short breaths
Saw him through the murky water, planning two deaths
Beth Anne cowered down praying to her dear Lord
He found her, pulled her up by the hair, fired once more
The bullet blew off her ear and traveled on down
Collapsed her lungs, in her blood she would drown
Brad disappeared and the firing just stopped
For Mexico he fled, red ranger with white top
Beth dragged herself the complete length of the rug
Called 911, shed been shot...head ringing from slug
She was determined to live, wouldn't give up the fight
But then she passed out endangering her plight
Came the Greeley police, fire trucks, EMT's
Assessed the situation, perp further he flees
They all worked on Mark, too late he was dead
One smart responder....woman shot in the head
They spreading out rushed the house, found my sis
Beth was unresponsive, victim almost missed
Speeding to Weld County General, sirens blaring
Got her in the ER cut off what she was wearing
O.R. She went with damage extensive
Not much hope, docs and staff apprehensive
For many hours they sawed, pinned, stitched and closed
The ICU threat of infection posed
Her body and face were unrecognizable
Family stood believing the impossible
Appeared an Adonis with blonde hair and blue eyes
Talk of afterlife evidently not lies
Her guardian angel told Beth he was there
Would appear much later, in death they would share
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 6:47 PM UTC
(This is a true story)
Working in the ICU, on the graveyard shift,
Paul here's your admission, into bed we must lift.
I had overlooked the name while taking report,
The past was calling, she was an old cohort.
My beautiful Linda, five years together,
We'd still be a couple except for her daughter Heather.
I couldn't win over the child, tried though I might,
She wanted her father, always an uphill fight.
So my friend, my love, my perfect mate,
Parted company, feelings of pain and sorrow, never of hate.
Time marches on and the years rolled by,
Less were Linda tears shed that I needed to dry.
Back in the ICU, esophageal varicies was her fate.
Alcoholism eroded her neck veins, death couldn't wait.
She looked up at me, smiled and said,
I never stopped loving you, always in my head.
The ***** helped dull the pain and regret,
Without it your recollection did constantly beset,
And into my life left a gargantuan hole,
Not just in my body, into my eternal soul.
I have to go now God's calling my name,
As she grabbed my hand her strength did wane.
Great efforts were taken, for life we do strive,
Compressing her chest didn't keep her alive.
Prepared her body I did clean and did wrap,
Placed her into a shroud, my strength this did sap.
I finished my shift and went on my way,
Her sweet warm memories caressed me that day.
Dearest Linda I hope you found peace,
My love for you never will cease.
Please visit poemsbypaul.com
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 12:24 PM UTC
The eyes are there again
egging for inspection.
Look me in the face
and lose your muse discretion.
The weight it bears
ill prepared
to flow without repression.
To know there is a place
where the lion sleeps
moans and mimes
the holes, they blind.
Not a thing in mind.........
Get out of my mind.
Out of my mind
something I force....
farce.....
Faust...
Dec 27, 2010
Dec 27, 2010 at 10:24 PM UTC
Crept in the surgeon from the ashen winds
Peaceful, baleful autumn fire
A descent climbing ever higher.
A special case to him it seemed, starched white
His breathy steam corroborated.
The nurses rush ‘tween bed and **** checking
Vitals of lacking that but the enigma
Curiouser and, oh, the blank screen displayed it.
There, as sight, the network of bones, all disposed
To their center, by blood and vein, all there through.
What caught the eye, a screaming white blot
In the thick of his bare cavity
A cold urn, well wrought
Had in its mouth a thousand streaming shards
Burning, pumping all the same by some miracle
That rigid effaced youth and flesh
Taking its gestalt’s place.
A nurse approach in ample fit to begin,
Crack his stern starch baritone, there he burst
Take him away; nothing is wrong
Amateur at best, irreclaimable at worst.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 12:46 AM UTC
Eighty years young
Speaking in tounge
Your body fought
Head full of bizarre thought
Arms and legs restrained
How are you not frightened
Are they violent, Yah?
We tried, everything,
for the shake of your revival
I can't bear to see you like this
I wish you are dismiss
Heavily sedated & exhausted
To tired to wrestled & agitated
Lord please take his pain away
Apr 9, 2022
Apr 9, 2022 at 7:40 AM UTC
I've been to all ends of the earth looking for you but you are not direction
I searched the sky for you but you are not a constellation
I looked to the sea but you are not the waves
When I searched the trees I was disappointed by your absence but you are not a bird
I looked under the ground but you are not the roots of the pines
I dissected every line I ever wrote but you are not a collection of words
When I listened to the wind I couldn't help myself and I tried to hear you but you are not a whisper
Screaming in caves creates company but you are not an echo
I gathered a crew and set sail in treacherous weather but you are not a lighthouse
I've heard the floor boards squeak and the walls moan but you are not a house
This car has carried me for ninety five thousand miles but you are not the highway
I climbed to the tops of mountains but you are not a feeling of victory
With thoughts of warmth I struck a match and lit the woods on fire but you are not heat
I stood alone in the night watching the snow fall but you are not the cold
Hundreds of hours spent in the ICU have proven I am sick but you are not the antidote
I melted thousands of renown paintings but you are not inspiration
Millions of scientific advances have been torn apart but you are not understanding
I've searched the words of prophets philosophers and teachers but you are not wisdom
They drew blood from my veins but you are not life
A psychic read my mind but you are not thought
I visited with inventors but you are not an idea
But the day she ripped my heart out of my chest I found you nestled inside safe and sound
And it dawned on me that you are my sunshine
~W.C.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 3:02 PM UTC
white roses and Jacob's Coat
purple bearded irises and ferns
dark red wax begonias
scents of night jasmine
French lavender
antique tea roses
loquat, plum, guava and lemon trees
all swaying with an ocean breeze
casting shadows in the setting sun
memories of childhood
bamboo and nipa houses
coconut groves and fragrant banana
witches, faeries and wok-woks
a favorite white haired grandfather
living off land and sea
harvesting root crops and fruit
fishing for viand
barefoot and ******* sarongs
in a private paradise miles from town
bonfire festivities
tuba wine and drunken salamats
an open adoption
a house tiled with affluence
and visits back home
a war's interruption
people lost or found
married off to life in America
lumpia, pancit, beefsteak and beeco
spaghetti, burgers, *** roast and pizza
dinner's table set for eleven
the house on Wagner street
the loss of husband and son
advancing age and declining health
ER's and ICU's
a final farewell
a garden of children
grand children and great grand children
branches in Lala's family tree
her progeny sprouting roots
looking to the future
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 9:56 PM UTC
Good morning, my love.
I didn't mean to stare.
I was just envying
the pillow beneath your head,
and the sheets that envelop you
in their comforting warmth.
While you were off
In surreal realities
That shapeshift into truths
I was waiting here,
Watching your every move.
Good morning, my love.
Know that every waking moment
Is the miracle
That brings you home to me.
Apr 27, 2012
Apr 27, 2012 at 8:39 PM UTC
The only time I had had ***********
I now remember fully each detail,
She had told me to get off prematurely.
The girl was on the defensive mode,
I perfectly remember how she fumbled,
She was nervous if I emptied my load.
The way she requested me next day,
I can remember it with bittersweet hue,
She said, "Don't marry anyone else."
The fate had wished something else,
I met with a really serious road accident,
She used to visit me then in the ICU.
The injured me was in a comatose state,
I was told that she often used to visit me,
She surprises me as a guardian angel.
The injured me could remember it not,
I was looked after by the dark angel how,
She wiped forehead sweat from fever hot.
The surgeon in charge of my treatment,
I was told by him as well of how she cared,
She used to summon him oftentimes.
The girl told my mother about both of us,
I was just her best friend she told my mom,
She named my ex- as my then girlfriend.
The girl asked me on phone desperately,
If I could remember about the Agra trip,
She was just disappointed with my reply.
The girl is now married to someone,
I had killed the relationship between us,
She knows not I remembered it not.
Perhaps I should accept it now,
I would have to be alone forever,
Now that I remember all of it.
Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 7:56 AM UTC