With grandmother, the mute mediator
Death was god sent, everybody thought.
I knew it was man made.
Grandmother missed life with ice first
Death grew angry at being second
And refused to settle with her
In her mossy home
Grandson upon a tricycle had dead dimples
Sons had dead eyes, deader feet
Grandmother alone was living
Being the only one, she made the dead ‘alive’.
ANUSHA.U.R.
|
17 yrs
|
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