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Where Thirst Ends

On the sacred occasion of Shaheedi Gurpurab, I offer this humble haiku in remembrance of Guru Arjan Dev Ji's unwavering faith, grace, an...

Wednesday, April 8, 2015

Grieving graves

6 feet beneath
The broken slates,
The souls roam
Naked and grieving.
Their monologues,
Sacred secrets,
Scattered by wind
Across this green glade
Speckled with
Headstones cloaked in
Grief.
Occasionally,
And funds permitting,
The manager arranges fresh flowers,
Oft forgotten with time.


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4 comments:

  1. Shonna SlaytonApril 9, 2015 at 9:40 AM

    I'm meeting so many talented poets in this year's A to Z. In this poem, you created a vivid picture in my mind with so few words.

    ReplyDelete
  2. CarverApril 9, 2015 at 9:59 PM

    Poignant and moving imagery.

    ReplyDelete

Since every thought is a seed, I am looking forward to a delicious harvest.

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