I thought I saw my afterlife withdrawn
From orchards fruiting many forlorn faces
And none too far, though, messengers of dawn
Holding firm, some souls with fading traces
I thought I saw my wife bid me goodbyes
And children wailing, calling out my name
But I had motionless, impassive eyes,
Which could not but portray a dying flame.
I thought I wanted peace from all that din
And age off, resting in a soundless place
But never thought that it would be so rife
With affluence of grief, naked, wherein,
For all its bounty, I can't find solace.
It's absent love; to me is afterlife.
No comments:
Post a Comment