Pens and Pages

A world full of "certainties" All the plans, all the vanities. Where black covers the white Suited in "confidence"- the constant fight. A million roads I dream to take One destination, knowing not I turn where. A green veil covers for two years, some two decades. But the "plan" awaits, new roads to make. I pant, I struggle, I do my best While they say, "You are, dear, but so inadequate".

Morbid days and morbid nights, Trees that no longer live, Blood in grandmother's hands, Red fluid that bled thick. The blood now powdered By her hands that crushed The necks of mint leaves. Baby faces on the walls Painted yellow and pink. The same faces haunt at night, Nights that remind them to laugh, Laugh and giggle Over their dead bodies Thrown in the kitchen garden. Trees that no longer live, Plants that died in grief, The tiny yellow leaves Of the stems that grew on the bodies, The roots that captured the hearts. The blood is now powdered, Maybe underneath grandmother's pestle. The mortar smells of rotten flesh, Grandfather's misery and mother's tears. The babies laugh as they protest, They would have bled every month anyway. Ten dead babies and a newly born, Grandmother's love and souls torn. Let the baby live That bleeds only once At the time of its death And not every month...

You're all words, When it is your death. For people by then Would have forgotten How to love you, again. They would remember You not, for your deeds Were forgotten too soon. You lived on the smell Of ephemeral cigarettes, On the taste of bitter beer And the whiskey that burns Your guts as it vanishes. What is it that you'll leave behind? Your beauty was forgotten When you succumbed To the wrinkles of aging. Your smile is no longer charming When you hide the gum That misses a tooth. So what is that you'll leave behind? Probably, those words, Never spoken, Only written down, On the bark of a tree To be read by strangers Who know nothing about your struggle. And when the tree dies, And the soil embraces your words, Probably it is then That your soul will rest As your words will finally leave love For the soil, That you couldn't.