"Willy nilly runs the river
Without an original edition."
I think about death
and so it appears, like a ghost with legs of uneven length.
Each step makes a noise, an uneven chatter
that turns just outside the window of my mind like a brook.
No, I am not troubled by this visitation because
death is a facsimile, a fundamental
awkwardness. All felicities
I bestow on so earnest an attempt at imitation. I imitate it
myself, with an accommodating stumble.
The susurrus of death tells me that nothing is cleanly divisible,
that life is a current that wends crookedly.
But the ghost beguiles and I cannot resist putting my hands in,
wrist-deep, pulling apart where I reach, finally, the stream
of the original,
the prime number, the place where parting cannot occur.
Indivisible or lopsided.
Death is a natural and unavoidable phenomenon for every life. Hence, it is always better to accept the fact willingly and seek enjoyment in it too. Thanks for sharing this meaningful and interesting poem.
Interesting view on a subject that's both unavoidable and final. Enjoyed the read!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Awesome poem, Nicely written. But the ghost beguiles and I cannot resist putting my hands in, wrist-deep, pulling apart where I reach, finally, the stream of the original....