Friday, July 21, 2006

Sonnet for Mother - Her Last Journey

Decked in varied floral blooms,
Swaddled in gold filigreed shrouds,
Smeared with perfumes,
She travelled into the clouds.

An existence of love she had lived
Years of more giving than taking
A life of suppressed sobs and tears unshed
Of turnings and missed crossings.

She lies in rigor mortis beside father,
In an earthen grave dug specially for her,
On previous visits she knew this sepulcher,
And with her man, one day, she would rest there.

There is a time when we connect
And then we must all self-destruct.

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