When I come to the end of the road
And the sun has set for me
I want no rites in a gloom filled room
Why cry for a soul set free?
Miss me a little, but not for long
And not with your head bowed low
Remember the love that once we shared
Miss me, but let me go.
For this is a journey we all must take
And each must go alone.
And I've got to understand
You must release the ones you love
And let go of their hand.
I try and cope the best I can
But I'm missing you so much
If I could only see you
And once more feel your touch.
Yes, you've just walked on ahead of me
Don't worry I'll be fine
But now and then I swear I feel
No winter without a spring
And beyond the dark horizon
Our hearts will once more sing ….
For those who leave us for a while
Have only gone away
Out of a restless, care worn world
Into a brighter day
To laugh often and much;
to win the respect of the intelligent people
and the affection of children;
to earn the appreciation of honest critics
and endure the betrayal of false friends;
to appreciate beauty;
to find the best in others;
to leave the world a bit better
whether by a healthy child, a garden patch,
or a redeemed social condition;
Flap, flap went the mind of the bird
Who flew out of my grandmother's attic
Like heat in the creases
Where air used to be.One week
Of summer was all that house
Could take of my brother and me.
After she died, someone, my aunt I
Think, arranged for her to be driven
I am tired,
A life has expired
A person who I deeply admired.
The future that was selected
Came when I least expected.
I don't know what tonight will be,
Little did I know that she would be free.
The sound of a rattling diesel engine
did catch my attention - I knew that machine wasn't beeping.
The Clock Cell
A Poem by Rosa Jamali
Translated from original Persian into English by the Author
Something happens to die
And the sunlight which has been soaking is wet and obscure
If I extend the lines
That frozen object will drop
The one you seized in your hand
what would be the reason
to have an open casket funeral?
Why should the living
see the dead?
He addressed the questions to no one
but his dead wife answered from the
picture on the wall
Wild flight on flight against the fading dawn
The flames' red wings soar upward duskily.
This is the funeral pyre and Troy is dead
That sparkled so the day I saw it first,
And darkened slowly after. I am she
Who loves all beauty -- yet I wither it.
Why have the high gods made me wreak their wrath --
Forever since my maidenhood to sow
Sorrow and blood about me? Lo, they keep
Their bitter care above me even now.