Prabhakar Subramaniam


Ghosts


The dead flit in and out
Of our daily lives
They follow us
Live with us
Years after, generations together
Evoking memories
In the shape of a nose
In a gait, posture or colour of eyes
Some still blessed for the riches shared
Many hated for their foibles
Travelling with the genes
Things you cannot break off
Some cursed again and again
With eternal damnation
By the heirs
For the diseases bequeathed
For their implacable hatred
That has driven progeny
To distant climes
Where they still live
Like ghosts
In shimmering limbos

Submitted: Friday, February 22, 2013
Edited: Saturday, February 23, 2013

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