In Life,
Nothing came to me easily,
Everyone says that.
I say it because I lost it all,
Lost, found, slept, forgot, moved on….
Time and again.
Till the leaves became green,
Rain washed away what I forgot to forget.
God was white, He was silent, He was there,
It’s not my fault I did not see Him early on.
Under an imaginary chapel I prayed,
He heard me and came to me with outstretched arms,
“Mom”, He called.
For the first time I noticed a huge white ship,
Across the wide waters,
I looked inside and it looked like a happy place,
Filled with flowers, butterflies and my dad’s old slippers.
My father had an amazing mind,
But he was in a rush to be on the other side,
Where I could not see him, touch him, question him,
Get mad at him,
I could just look at the slippers, placed at a right angle,
Like always.
Unlike me, he loved angles, points, discipline.
I was alive for a little while in the past,
Knew love,
But life has a monkey face,
It was all over, before I knew how to save,
What was never mine.
‘Twas just an inch of whispering hope, I took up my old pencil, to
write, why I was so magnificently empty.
Poplars had a strange painless fire,
I was finally talking to stars and Van Gogh’s artificial ears,
Summer,
Spring,
Autumn,
Winter,
Where is my mother?
She was too lovely to like the mirror,
Like a leaf that snaps loose from the branch of a tree,
She left me,
My father,
And herself finally.
But now I find her again,
In frozen flowers, leaves, the depth of the Charles river,
When I cross the bridge,
To the other side,
Alone,
I wonder,
Why me, Mother?