furkan on Murth
2 hours ago
A home-made tattoo wrapped up in a scroll
(not of honey and milk, but indian ink)
saw 50 summers, but winters no more.
A cooling board smoothes away pain.
An epithet formerly scrawled upon walls;
a roughly-inked alias on a right wrist
provided the title required to assist in
identification of you.
I will search for your words in your final abode...
Wednesday 28th September 2011 1:28 pm
I walk from room to room
and try to catch a glimpse of you,
but all that I could see,
are muted shadows playing tag.
Sunlight catches visions
of days now stored in memory
and with your recent passing,
you climbed upon the misty crag.
The kitchen tap still leaks,
we've fixed that oft and time again;
your trusty stove still works,
those smells a...
Friday 25th March 2011 11:41 am
Once, so many years ago,
such a distant place and clime;
moments of thought and life were shared,
each move in perfect time.
Words in unison, hearts pulsed,
so intimate each gesture;
each expression fears repulsed,
companions of great measure.
Now it seems we're worlds apart;
nothing more in common share.
The last desired thing to start,
last threads ...
Sunday 20th March 2011 8:45 am
Is that why?
for so many years with the pain reminiscent of childbirth
and cried with longing and loss
the empty hollow and the useless womb
Is that why
and found each day weighed heavier than the last
and my body dried and drained
and my world shrank to a parody
Is that why
Tiny webbed fingers a hea...
Tuesday 15th February 2011 8:57 am