Death
in Spring
I
balanced all brought all to mind
The
years to come seemed a waste of breath
A waste
of breath the years behind
In
balance with this life, this death
(Irish poet, W B Yeats)
As I
tend to my garden springing forth new life,
A
small voice quiveringly talks to me about spring
And a
loud voice ever shrieks to me about death.
I try
to nurture that small voice through the pain & strife
I
remain my own watchdog ever watchful by stealth
Fielding
myself from huge volleys of shocks and cushioning my falls with a zing,
With
but some enthusiasm to inflate I ride upon life’s bumpy roads - like a fling.
Just
some days back, dark and sinister death came softly to my bounds
And
even as I felt my loss, my tears just seemed to hang around.
Numb,
everywhere I turned I saw flowers abloom, I felt my dear one was talking to me
My loss
I thought was all spread around in flowers for me to see… L
One of
my dear bubbles had burst spreading colors everywhere & in the air a self
sweet scent
Over
all pathways were flowers galore, almost everywhere that I went.
As I
spoke in my mind to my lost one and sang lullabies – myself to console
The
spring air just kept tossing the day over and the moon kept riding up tall
Whenever
I look at the moon, the stars twinkle in my tear- rimmed eyes
I
clutch at the air, then let it assail and wonder what all will thus pass me by.
I
wrench at the air and agonize till pain gives way to a mere dull ache
If
this is a dream and I am asleep, I sure want to be up and awake.
“No
man is an island entire of itself; every man
is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;
…………………………………………………
…………….;
any man's death diminishes me,
because I am involved in mankind.
And
therefore never send to know for whom
the bell tolls; it “tolls for thee. “
