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Showing posts from May, 2011

Swallowing the rising smoke

I'd want it to rain, on the day I die, not heavy rains, only a light drizzle, on the day the body'd be burned, the drizzle vapourising the burning wood, swallowing the rising smoke, diluting the tears, sorrows and longings. And when the sun rises, there'd be no reminder, no ash, no bones, only a mark on the time gone by, leaving me free to soar up in the sky, for peace, for truth, for love, alone.