Don’t hold me to blame.
The road was never straight
nor the wind mild of frame
Your bedside monitor screeches
one incessant, contrary acoustic.
Giving notice to all abroad that
time has moved on elsewhere
Let me raise you up and brush
away the marks that play a
cracked tune on your broken
parts, like a drummer breaking sticks
The glass of your eye
holds the drink of my heart,
where champagne bubbles try
to revive an empty space no
longer receiving its rhythmic pulse
The mood of your limbs,
restrained by dysfunctional form
and snared by aseptic plastic,
bring a darkness to this room.
And, like an Indian encircled
wagon train, Dante's allegorical
limbo encircles your bed, pining
for your life renunciated husk
It is difficult to be impartial to the families grief, anger and hopelessness I see when I am nursing the dying. Reading your poem floods my mind and heart with sadness that resides there no matter how much my uniform demands me to be detached and professional.
You do great works. My father was looked after by one such nurse. And my wife is a nurse of many years.
A beautiful play of words and brilliant imagery! Good poem!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Lovely piece of poetry, well articulated and nicely penned in poetic diction with conviction. Thanks for sharing Heg. Please read my poem MANDELA - THE IMMORTAL ICON.