stroke is now becoming
more of a fixture
in my thoughts.
it pays a monthly rent
to bother me
for one whole day
at the least.
eternal silence from its hands
seems more likely
to happen now
not the freak accidents
and violent deaths
i dreamt of and frequented
my trips and
wanderings
twenty years ago
and with poetry, death
is getting old,
and with poetry, my
last words.
very well then,
let the verse be immortal
and prove me wrong one last time.
Advertisements
