Lest we forget...Her

The bark beetle
begins its note
From high to low
A rhythmic flow
Ushering the end
Autumn is gone
Winter’s just around the bend

Will there be the warmth
Of the fireplace
Or just a cold space
For the gypsy
in her

She looks
Through the morning
and its bright sunlight
Through the day
as the clouds move in
And makes its way
for the breeze
A chill in the air
Soon it would start to freeze

She looks
As the sun
reaches the horizon
Casting its last rays
More powerful than the rest
As it alights
The patches of clouds

Warmth spreads around
And brightens the ground
It is indeed fields of gold
But time moves on
and it's dawn

Birds make their way home
The bark beetles
conclude
their tune


Silence surround
Darkness begins
She watches the stars
Some…lights years away
In the darkness below
She walks about
In a slow pace
Waits for the moon
Hoping it’ll soon
come out
to light the way

In the moonrise
She remembers
Seeing…
A familiar face

September Rain

It feels like December
the weather
has changed.

The rainfall
seems
never ending

The trees and plants
have had enough
They have started
bending

The dogs
that ran around in joy
drenching
their thick coats
are now coy
Not even a bark

The weather
has taken away
all the spark
they're curled up
in their kennel.

No sign of life
at distant houses

All is still

Silence fill
the air
of the morning.

It would have killed
if not for the shower
the continuous
pattering
on tinned roof

So deafening...

Old Age...

She lived
more than a century

Three generation and more
she got to see

Many would
just wonder
how that would be...

To her
it might have been
a lonely path

Friends her age
had long
made their exit
from life's stage

The body
began to wither
shrinking with time
it then became
a long struggle

The soul

not willing
to give its way
yet still

until one day
it tired...
and could
no longer hold
the string
it became
cold...

The last breath
went out
never to return

The struggle
having ended
the soul
now liberated
the body
rests in peace...

Death seems on a spree

Death seems
on a spree
these days

picking up
souls
it deems
necessary

no questions
one can ask
he is but
only doing his task

sometimes
without a reason

yet you follow
where it leads
leaving no trail

the ashes
so frail
dissolve

or is carried
by the wind
swirling around

they say
the soul
can reach
far and wide
before you realize
you're on the other side

Death
with its black hood
grants you

one last look
at the familiar
you would leave

from then on
it perhaps
is a new journey
that is
little understood

those left behind
would remember
the deeds

In time
even that
would be forgotten

All they can do
is pray
that you
find your way

Life ends here
Death begins its journey
who knows
its the same journey
backwards...