There was no raised
plaque.
Rituals of resuscitation
had failed. Something to lift
from your paintings. I wanted
everything of you.
Not touching the
death cookies. I prepare myself
to witness the―
bread breaking.
There were no tears,
no pangs. No agony.
Peace.
Was it true that you
were no more you
whom I gave my vision―
my lungs, my pen.
Were you jinxed?
I would never know.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: March 14th, 2020 20:12
- Category: Nature
- Views: 11
Offline)
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