Thursday, May 27, 2010

He talks to me of death
like a beautiful love song
There is poetry in his words
but there is none for which I long

We have our last supper
In fact, I feed him the last morsel
He tells me of his life
and that there is time for the final call

I ponder over the last words
and wait for him to fall
there is freedom in his breath
but it smacks of alcohol

I remember we had the last drink together
and had blamed the hot weather
His company is a disease, he tells me
His last words: Don't forgive me brother.

None can save him, he is gone
truth prevails always
even if it's wrong
even if it's wrong


Anandi said...

"there is freedom in his breath
but it smacks of alcohol"


Poornima said...

One of your bests...keep it rolling

Megh said...

Don't forgive me brother.

its amazing how poetry can resonate
your words were like a
Déjà vu