It all started on a hazy morning,
The pain dimming the light of life,
I turned to my right,
The vase was filled with withering flowers,
I turned to my left
The door was still open,
The windy wind swept in,
Misplacing things…
I looked around myself,
All the things that I had decorated…
The paintings, the books,
And on the table …
The photo frame.
I closed my eyes again,
The comforting caress
And the warm embrace
The hot tears on my temple
And the trembling fingers
Holding my weak hands,
Only my moans answered them.
I pressed my eyes tighter
To avoid looking into those bedewed eyes.
Those tender fingers
And the tiny little head
Rested against my dying heart.
I silenced my mind,
To accept, to embrace,
The friend of life.
And yet the soft press on my palms,
The hug on my bosom,
Pains me, pulls me back.
“Death is an intellectual matter,
Dying is pure pain.”
