What Will My Gravestone Say?

News of three deaths in one month amid COVID-19 became too much to bear.

Tomorrow you won’t be mine

I know where it will hurt the most I know when, and how Yet I am holding on to a hope, A little more hope for now Even if this love feels so clear in sight I know tomorrow you won’t be mine   It burns and hurts in sweet pains I long, I sob…

I would rather

I would rather be a clown clad in a tattered gown Than be a neat clone of every pretty one I would rather cry and cry and let the whole being sigh Than pretend to forget  that we never really met I would rather so much miss that never happening kiss Than bare my body…

Before you say sorry

Demand not forgiveness Nor burden them with pleas Say it gently but mean every syllable Even before you say sorry   Get into their shoes But expect not to understand Give them some time to heal Way after you say sorry   Leave them alone if you can For they may have memories bitter Desire…

The boy in white shorts

He may be a Catcher in the rye That you come across bye and bye To tangle you in his thoughts You know that boy in white shorts At dusk, he floats in the free skies While lying down on his back, with his eyes That inquire in wondrous whats You know that boy in…

Old Mays

Be a futile quest, know no aim nor rest Or be an enquiry in oblivion, a heart’s cry in vain Let it fade on the horizon, and find it’s own hymn And scatter in sands, or sing deep in lands Dwell in minutes that tickle, in words so fickle Let a memory be born, let…

Insatiable

She imagines amid the dark clouds that hover on her mountains of sorrow to be a beauty, not the beholder   Her agony rains, and downpours in cold seas and cutting waves And drops a drought in her soul   There’s a nectar that flows in a stream nearby and leaves her eternally thirsty   She…

Hosanna!

I A song from a distant radio Unveils a time gone by Or words woven tastefully Unlock an old key of memories A brooding violin sings Unbuttons the bosom of sorrow A slight touch on the fret Undresses a wound forgotten II I hear a prelude every morn When the breeze plays A bird then…