I Will Walk To The Creek Of The River With You

You are ready to leave,
time trickles through the windpipe,
heart bleeds with memories that the mind can’t hold,
skin burns, breast a dried peach,
girdle of pain wraps where the silk draped once.

The sparrow flies from the attic, abandons the nest it built
among the old photo albums I had stacked away;
the crow sits at the window cocking its head,
its feathers reflect the pale moon;
the old sandal tree in the garden rots at its roots.

I sit at the porch with Garuda Puranam,
watch the glow in the eastern sky after a night’s vigil.
A white mist hangs over my house,
the exit of a soul is no mean task and
I am earmarked to witness the spectacle.

POW

 

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8 thoughts on “I Will Walk To The Creek Of The River With You

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