How will I know?
When he turns to face the wall.
Why would he do that?
It's called release, recognition,
a return to the womb.
I don't understand.
You don't have to, just accept.
Won't he be lonely?
Only for a little while.
Then?
Open your storeroom of memory
and be glad.
Reminds me of the 'Tibetan Book of the Dead' and the process they go through to release the spirit from this world...Coach
This poem could only be written by someone of mature years. A profound, simply stated piece about life and death and freedom from both. I feel a strange sense of peace as I read your words. love, Allie xxxx
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
As I face the wall, a fleeting glimpse in my peripheral gives me pause...sway.