Dear Pops,
How does it feel on the other side?
Have you made friends or are u lonely?
Does it get dark at night or shines all thru?
Did you find the narrow path or saw the broad one?
Do they have calenders or mark anniversaries?
Do angels really have wings and heaven made of gold?
Pops, can you see us from up above?
Can you see how broken mum is?
The nights have been long and the day very cold,
We take turns to console her even if we also are broken inside,
Can you see how we have struggled on our own?
Time has failed to heal our hearts,
Nature has failed to abhor the vacuum.
We know we can't bring you back,
A million tears wouldn't change your mind ,
We have prayed and accepted our fate,
We will have to live through the pain even if it hurts, till it hurts no more.
We have fixed a date to lay you to eternal rest,
We pray you find peace on the other side
Rest easy pops till we meet to part no more.
Copyright (C) 2023 - Sir D'Champ's Poetry.
I DON'T KNOW
IT'S HARD FOR ME TO SAY
ONE DAY WE WERE
TALKING ABOUT THIS AND THAT
I STARTED SEEING THINGS HER WAY
GUESS I GAVE IN
WE STARTED BEING FREINDS
TOOK OUR TIME
THAT'S WHEN OUR LOVE BEGAN
WE STARTED TALKING ABOUT
CALENDERS AND KEEPING
TRACK OF THINGS
I FOUND HER TO BE SOMEONE
YOU COULD LOVE
THAT'S WHEN EVERYTHING CHANGED
FOUND MY EVERYTHANG
REMEMBER THE DAY THINGS CHANGED
WE STOPPED ACTING STRANGE
THAT'S WHEN EVERYTHING CHANGED
GOT IN LINE
TOOK MY TURN
THEY SAID I WAS CRAZY
A LESSON LEARNED
WHEN THEY ALL FELL OFF
I STAYED IN
SHE STARTED APPRECATING ME
AND WE BECAME FREINDS
DAY BY DAY
WE STUCK TO IT
MADE TIME FOR US
HELD ON TO IT
THEN ONE DAY
WE SET A DATE
INVITED ALL
COME ALL DON'T BE LATE
You are not a stranger to me.
I know of how you
made your life a bed of
bends and turns to heroism
The inks of your writings
are of the life of your flesh,
birthing immortal words.
I know how your name
runs down the throat of school children
and calenders bore your honour
While you left, and fed your mother with hunger
and daughter that you held dear to heart.
I know you brother,
and him, whose footsteps you followed,
Your father.
1-21-2013 The Best of Afternoons
Lying awake,I could see the light of day,
Through the door ,that of a keyhole,
Out of my opening eyes I notice, the lazy clock reaches up as the candle light did,
Somewhat like the night before,
On the wall,my calenders' picture,
A monkey in a sailor's suit with a pageboy haircut,
The summer breeze sneaks a glimps of future funny poses,
What will the future bring,hopefully more that just monkey business,
As in slow motion at first,surely- I race into the openess,
Seemingly resilient from a restless night of dreaming,
Through the sound of a far-a-way intuition calling,
Me out from into the sunlight,away from these cumbersome blues.
Cupboard is empty and the sink is full.
Crumbs on the counter and dust on the sill.
Blanket and pillows on the couch.
Heart and souls hollow like an empty pouch.
Trouble came knocking, so I locked the door.
It's the only company I get, I've become such a bore.
Daily calenders over a week behind.
The clock keeps ticking and tightens the bind.
How em I doin?
It's not hard to see.
From inside these walls.
Phones disconnected, so no one calls.
Some might think that's what I want.
But like others, I know how the past can haunt.
How ya doin?
They ask.
Just fine, I say, as I turn and run away.
To when times were simpler and only in my mind.
Blinds are drawn.
I barely know if it's dusk or dawn.
Climates at 68, don't know the season.
Goin outside, there seems no reason.
Modern invention tells me all that I could want to know.
But, doesn't fill my heart.
And leaves my room with such a dim dull glow.
It is the 2012 world scare.
I wonder how they dare,
They look at the Mayan calender of years past,
They say the world may end at last.
Do they not reason
Has it become a thing of this season .
The Mayan's were all killed off,
Is that not reason enough.
For you see the calenders were done in slabs,
Inserted in the form of tabs.
They were done in blocks of time,
If they survived all would be fine.
Then comes along another scare,
Again how do they dare,
Tell me the sun spots will hit the earth .
Please now I am full of mirth.
Roll of the dice, a trillion to one,
Please tell me if I am well done.
I sit and shake my head,
Foolish ideas I am going to bed.
It is me, inside & outside,
movement of sensuous self.
Time sails through the mind,
a silken thread unbroken in names.
If only the death would erase the fear.
If only the other self meets my roots
and stir up the inner sap.
Reaching the end,
you tell me to remember
your name to latch on to memories,
to collect all the pieces
of conceptual loss & gains.
How we were fooling ourselves?
Nothing is left between us
to celebrate the dreams.
All the stray thoughts
could not give us insight
we were dusted off from start
to finish in our loneliness.
Once it was a glory
to watch carnations in our eyes,
now I am mourning the death of calenders.
SATISH VERMA
Acceptance Is DifficultY.
Hard for me to share.VerY DifficultY.
Places poems rhymes and times.
Women that I never ever saw.
Some idea of missing what I never knew.
Clouds aer linned with silver
and with lightening too.
Acceptance of a future memory.
Pining for a lost childhood.
Living in the present past.
Turning back inside myself,
running in the straitest line,
marking lines of darkness,
trailing fears behind me.
Calenders aer marked in time.
Fishing has to bee
done early
in the mourning.
Acceptance Is DifficultY.
Hard for me to share.VerY DifficultY.
Places poems rhymes and times.
Women that I never ever saw.
Some idea of missing what I never knew.
Clouds aer linned with silver
and with lightening too.
Acceptance of a future memory.
Pining for a lost childhood.
Living in the present past.
Turning back inside myself,
running in the straitest line,
marking lines of darkness,
trailing fears behind me.
Calenders aer marked in time.
Fishing has to bee
done early
in the mourning.