Death in a Holy Month
Mother asked me to pray in the holy month,
Pray for my sins and the sins ever after,
I turn to Thomas's Conversation Of Prayer: "The sound about to be said in the two prayers..
For the sleep in a safe land and the love who dies..." that leaves,
the invasive crow of the dawn cawing away and my consciousness rattling in the storm again.
I am disturbed to think of death, to come once and leave the dead hanging in a 'Heaven' and a 'Hell',
The lingering taste of life then invokes me: " Souls belong to nature, mixing in earth,sky,fire and water,
And thus no more of it."
What if her grey haired soul marred with insomnia,
His innocent blood clotted hands frozen after birth,
And the soul of those whom I didn't love or hate, have become that stormy breeze and that warming Moon's rays?
Shall I then become the same prayer and ease those who live?
Without knowing the true nature of death and life and be as I am- everlasting words.
Thomas's turns in his grave and reads his Sullen Art: "...From the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages...But for the lovers...who pay no praise or wages..."
And I look at the sullen moon brighter than ever,
Tonight I am praying to my soul for the anwers.
Sufia Khatoon 14/5/18
Digital Art by Lidia Chiarelli