Even though she knew what will it turn around,
Where will it end, where will she drown …
Still,
Sings the tiny moth,..Swinging her wings ,
Just to remind ‘fire’ about her nemesis…
wandering around the way of fire,
feeble ‘little moth’ in her vain desire …
though it might turn it into cause less ash ,
or will burn ‘her’ leaving no flesh …
More than ninety morns and eves of hard labours
In the mere hope of feeding their dear souls
The peasants tilled, sowed and weeded in the fields.
Alas! Went awry all things and lost their labours
Of toiling under more than ninety moons, suns and showers.
When the floods that swept and drown all the grains-
An untold misery gifted by destiny of fierce farces!
A beautiful maiden in her teens
With the eyes of deer, the rosy wet soft lips
The rounded lotus face, the gesture of angelic walks
Was she an idol and role model of many fans
Of all young and old the adoration of all ages.
What a fate that befalls on her- the hard times
When from small pox or some black pestilence she suffers,
There ends her fairness, loveliness and all attractiveness.
Destiny is such of many beautiful adorable girls!
Modi,the tea seller- the 15th prime minister of India he becomes,
Lincoln, the hawker became the 18th president of US:
The great two counterparts of different periods,
The achievement of hard work and honest efforts,
What a beautiful destiny each of them gets!
May be many thousand moments of darkness
In a moment an immortal victory of gloriousness,
A moment of pleasure and happiness
May be many thousand days of sinful curse,
Or a beggar becomes an emperor of empresses,
Or, may be thousand years of hard works
A single moment of destruction to all destiny befalls:
The sky may be dry or may cry with flooded tears
The stars may shine or be shaken in flashes,
Except destiny nothing is certain in this world like this.
To be remembered with firmness
Caring, sharing, loving and living with togetherness
The sole satisfaction all souls can gain in all places
Before death or any fate befalls to all human beings
To maintan the natural laws and its unbreakable rules,
Otherwise nature provides every one its catastrophes
Whether one ignores the assigned duties or other takes the great risks,
Death is the ultimate destiny of all creatures.
Upon the mantle
A candle burns
Prayers are heard
Mourning visits
Pressing a letter
To her chest
The look of grief
Is not a role play
Dripping tears fall
Crumpled and wet
The paper softens
Ink running and
Words disappearing
But never forgotten
Whimpering outward
Releasing a rawness
Sorrow stinging
Primal fear erupts
Two children look on
Their mother’s heart
Breaks for her father
Papou, he is gone
Death was alive
Inside my house
Inside my mother
I was seven years old
I tried to carry her
Boulder-like hurt
My younger brother
Stares within, voiceless
Goodbye grandfather
Your daughter is an
Amazing mother
Seas will never separate us
In the weeks after your death,
your face, the sound of your voice
disappeared from my memory,
then came back, projected onto people
in the street, turning up everywhere, as if
you had swung into a darkness where
not even thoughts could reach, and then
echoed back, amplified. The dark side
of the moon perhaps, I remember you telling me
how the moon dragged all living things towards it
and we had to fight against its pull. Too late
now to balance out the pull
it had on you, for you to give your side
of this conversation, bring me down to earth,
tell me strange facts I hadn’t heard before.
Gone, like your pain and all the things
we could have done together, your smile,
your restless intelligence, your touch.
I could have phoned you once, or wrote, but now
can’t reach to you, can’t lose you from my sight.
The dead do not say- I love you
Thirty years
You are a dark picture
A fly sits on you
What can be said
Next to this silence
No matter what,
The dead do not say
I love you.
More at http://www.ithl.org.il/page_16628.
I. Ars longa, vita brevis
Upon the announcement of my diagnosis and of impending demise:
One called me up, crying, wailing like a paid keener at an Irish funeral, telling me that I was the only person they would ever have wanted to marry. (“Oh, mammy, mammy: who’ll jam me’ bread now?”)
Another called me up, crying,
telling me that they didn’t want to live
in a world without me
and whatever would they do without me as a daily presence in their lives,
to dry up their tears and bandage their boo-boos?
(Personally I wouldn’t want to live in a world without olives, or pizza, or blackberry sangria, dogs or wifi).
Another called me up, crying, to tell me that I had a very, very serious diagnosis.
Another called me up, crying, to tell me that the answer for me was to avoid sugar, refined carbohydrates, and drink plenty of water with apple cider vinegar: that alone would save me from the yawning jaws of the opened grave.
Another still called me up, not crying, but to inform me (although, they claimed, they knew I did not want to hear it) that I had particularly shitty health insurance (and by the way, could I help them with their taxes?)
II. Acta est finita, plaudite!
The emperor Augustus had it completely right. The play is over: don’t cry- applaud!
We’ve been dying since before the sun burned hot in the sky and the continents assumed their present shape, and our remotest ancestors were dying when they were little more than mud-slugs with genetic promise.
One would think that we would have gotten good at it by now.
We’ve been “going away” since we got here, since countless ages before alphabets, settled agriculture and urban settlements were a twinkle in the eyes of our (dead) ancestors. One would have thought that it was as easy as falling off a log.
We’ve been ending ever since we began.
Buddha said that it was the destiny of all compound things to disintegrate. Buddha prescribed a remedy for death: a single mustard seed, taken from a house wherein no one had ever died.
Sorry, item is out of stock and on back order.
Entropy is for real. Things come apart! Can you guess what’s coming down the pike?
III. Nascentes morimur
Sure, cry, rage for a bit
against the dying of the light,
but after you’ve had your little tantrum
realize there is much to be said
for taking out citizenship
in the Kingdom of the Shades.
More at https://m.facebook.com/ScribeBilly/.
Delicate
Like a daisy
With the strength
Of a long stemmed re rose.
I know they were your favorite.
I bet you picked the petals off
One by one,
He loves me
He loves me not
Until the game was done,
But the two of you were together
Until death you both did part
There was never anything, but love
Always in your heart.