Without Him

No spring, no laughter,
Grief metastasizes,
Seeps further,
Corroding
In his absence,
A little of the essence,
A little of the dreams.
A little of everything,
Close to perfection,
Dissipates.

Mother's Love

Profound,
With an unspoken depth,
Warm and tender,
Her love, whispers
The joys of life.
Her gentle presence,
Comforts the soul
On cloudy nights,
In the cruelest winters
And in times,
The faith ails...
It cocoons the heart,
Her love,
Pious and bright.
It sings of peace,
About beauty, bliss.
The epitome of divinity,
The divine feminity.

Sorrow

She cries,
When the lingering gloom haunts
She cries,
When the soul writhes in pain,
When his absence taunts.
She curses
The ways of the world,
Ignorant and shallow
That lured him away.
She curses...
The world to burn to ashes,
For everyday her heart breaks,
Everyday, into tiny pieces.

On Being Thirty

Thirty winters,
Resplendent
With memories;
Some vivid,
Some obscure,
None forgotten...
Love has found me,
Yet I cry,
I write of longing
And dream of running away
With no destination in mind,
Secretly hoping,
Love would follow...
Love, just the essence,
Nothing else.