Friday, 5 February 2021

souls





















crowded souls
drifting and confined
against the gates of heaven
wait quietly for the afterlife

their arms are wrapped
around air they hold nothing
no other touch is needed
but the embrace of ghosts

the world left behind
revolves only for itself
every moment elongated
to forestall the last

crowded souls pause
bewildered by eternity
time is no longer counting
all their hours are done with
© BH, 2020

Something gets written - and I don’t know when or where - but there’s a fragment that refuses to fit. This is one such. It was superfluous, extraneous, not quite what was needed. So I put it away.

Only weeks later, I revisited it. Only now, does it make a kind of sense.

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