Poetry

Don't Mourn For Me

by

Bobbi Sinha Morey

In the flutter of dying
leaves I wait for you
in a shadow of mist,
my heart mellowing
like the ripeness of
an eclipse. Please
don't mourn for me
now that I'm gone,
but drop a sweet
memory into the flow
of the grey winter
evening. Wonder is
my thread of hope
that lights my path
when all I can do is
see you through an
invisible glass, unable
to touch you or my
son, never knowing
what it's like to hold
him again or ever feel
the breath of the living.
My love is silenced by
the lucent dark of death's
wings and I long to be
with you again when
you see me half lit in
the dusty doorway of
heaven.

Dancing With The Birds

by

Bobbi Sinha Morey

Inside her empty room
I listened to the soft
twilit rain wondering
what she would do if
she were still alive, her
cancer imperceptible,
nearly removed. The
last time I saw her in
the waning daylight
she cried when I
stroked her weary
hand, and I told her
it was okay to leave
the earth behind. I
opened the window
a ways so she could
feel the wind, knowing
that she had so little
time left and that she
loved the fresh air on
her skin. Her husky
voice measured what
she felt, certain thoughts
echoing between us,
unhidden words. Now
she is gone and the
motion of her wheel-
chair so still, occupied
by a cat sleeping in it
so silently, purring only
at will. I hope she is at
peace with herself by
now, dancing in the sky,
dancing with the birds.

The Faint Scent Of Time

by

Bobbi Sinha Morey

Reaching for the light
in a wicked wind the
tiny flame dies before
it can warm my skin
and nothing is there
in the darkness to
comfort me again.
Left with only the
faint scent of time,
the tears on my face
are never dry and I
wish for the memory
of a loving touch or
the sky I once knew
while all around
silence has enveloped
me. The air and shadows
have come to grip my
heart, reminding me
that death may come
in a day or two. Hope
is my broken string
and my will to live
without the overture
of the sun is like a
grey morning and
the absence of dawn.