One day
On the final day
On my final day
Some will hear of it, and maybe say
Ashes to ashes
While others say
No way! Dig a hole in the ground
That’s the right way
Either way, I can’t stay!
They’ll put me away
Somewhere far,
Far, far away
Where I will lay
Where I’ll remain
Or my remains will remain
My remains?
How?
That remains to be seen
Though definitely not remains to be seen!
That would be rather obscene
Imagine the scenes…
Sorry, I digress
Where was I?
I died, yes…
And my remains?
Still nowhere to be seen
Buried or blown away — either way
That’s my last day in the sun done
Until my tea leaf-like existence infuses with the next rainfall
Until the waves dissipate from the last time my name’s called
And that will truly be all
An existence steeped in life, steeped back into the earth
One way or another, I am returned
After that final sip,
It’s time to call it a day
Thank you and goodnight 🫖
Tag: Death
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Loose leaf
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Deadwood
In a rolling meadow stands a solitary tree,
A mighty noble oak, it would seem.
Its facade broad and strong,
Yet marked by demise, long writ across its pale, brittle carcass.
Withered branches contort skyward, as if pleading for another day.
How cruel the fate, to stand frozen in a plea.
A once vibrant life, now a stark harbinger of the inevitable.
Imprisoned in time like the statues of Pompeii,
Cursed to stand like a rooted memory,
God’s own sculpted memento mori,
Longing to become the wind.
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In time
The following poem is a tribute to my grandmother, who I unfortunately only got to meet once in my life because she lived in Burma and it was nearly impossible at the time to visit. She passed before I could meet her again..
Eyes on the departure board
Tripping on the uneven curb
Kicked up dust ambles into amber hues of sunset
It hits me
As unexpected as the last time
Yet familiar
The same swell of feelings, teasing each other, daring each other to unleash all they remember
In that plume of dust, the curb vanishes
The phone in my hand morphs into a tattered passport
The train station dissolves in a blink and I’m now seated, looking over my shoulder at a hazy figure, gradually diminishing from view
Sweating in the heat of this rusting old car, I wipe my brow, for I must see
An acrid smell of petrol distracts for a moment; a moment too precious to lose, since the distance will only grow now
Fighting against the bumpy road, I crane my neck further still
I can see her hand gently waving, as she takes another weary step into the dust trail left behind.
The same gentle hand that was a stranger to me not long before this moment
The same hand that somehow became the safest, warmest and most giving that I can recall
Her hand
That had nothing to give me, yet gave me more than I deserved all the same
Her hand falls to her face, as her face falls into her shoulders
The weariness of age played it’s part
Yet there was more to this dejected posture and faltering of steps than my young mind would allow itself to believe
She knew this was the last goodbye
Time would not be kind enough to wait for her
For any of us
Alas I was naively convinced that time was immaterial
Just a vessel with man at the helm
A plane, through which we chose our paths.
As devoid of purpose as a road with no-one to tread it
I was mistaken
The humble warmth of her smile belonged to time, as much as it did to my own memory
My memories, belonging as much to time as to myself
For in time they will fade
The distance between the memory of her and the present will only grow now
More dust will be kicked up as time moves forward
The finer details of her face will be lost in the haze; her touch will remain but the texture of her hands will elude me
Chipped away by the chisel of time; all that will survive is her essence
The only eternal amidst the flecks of forgotten memories
Now the dust trail fades, as her silhouette is swallowed by a fast rising sun
I have to relent and turn away from this abrupt blaze of light
The sun draws closer and closer until it rushes past my face with a howl and suddenly my train arrives.
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