Mortality Poems
Leaves
by Ken Ripley
How handy are the leaves that fall from trees,
Maple, Elm, Dogwood, even needles of pine.
I enjoy these trees, yet can’t tell one from another,
Except to appreciate their colors and their shade
And be soothed as each leaf rustles in the breeze.
And I can’t help thinking their story is like mine.
Proud at their peak to driest piles that smother,
The humblest leaf enriches me with every blade.
Leaves, like seasons, grow differently with time.
......
An Undying Poet
by Ujjal Mandal
The heaven's eye becomes tired
With rage,
Water endless in the sea.
Winter deflowers the tree,
Spring fills the fissures-
The process constant all year round.
Clouds take off the canopy-
Vapours make a sail
......
My fragile life
by Baramundi Roy
Life is so fragile for I live so close to death
and eternity will begin with my final breath.
This mortal body is composed of flesh and bone
but my soul is eternal and can exist on its own.
These years of mine are but a wisp of smoke
and will come to an end at midnight's stroke.
How many breaths will I breath within my lifetime?
How many heartbeats are there in this heart of mine?
......
Heading Home
by Ken Ripley
I miss the trees that lined the road,
Their massive trunks and leafy boughs
Changing colors as the seasons passed.
They formed a living wall of green or red
That greeted me when I entered town,
Familiar and comforting as I’d drive by,
A quiet tug of reassurance
Telling me I was almost home.
Year after year, those boughs were there,
......
Not a poem maybe
by Aditi Hayaran
Everything matters in this world until one day you wake up in a hospital room, hooked up to oxygen tubes and drips. Then, nothing really matters anymore.
The dreams you framed
The achievements you gained
The gossips and tea
Responsibilities and duty
All that matters is your heartbeat
The blood flowing inside and the way you breathe
It won't be permanent tho;
Your dreams will matter again
......
Not a poem maybe
by Aditi Hayaran
Everything matters in this world until one day you wake up in a hospital room, hooked up to oxygen tubes and drips. Then, nothing really matters anymore.
The dreams you framed
The achievements you gained
The gossips and tea
Responsibilities and duty
All that matters is your heartbeat
The blood flowing inside and the way you breathe
It won't be permanent tho;
Your dreams will matter again
......
"A thread that stitches shadows."
by Dylan Wu Rong
Through the thick mist,
I look down upon the grassy lands,
It is remorseful when I see-
the broken silver needle, on the stone slab.
Who left it behind, or did someone present it?
was it a gift or a memoir for the soul around it?
But maybe it was neither,
maybe- it was the stone that crafted it,
as a closer look sights me the rough cuts,
the many failed thin rods, stacked to the side.
......
"The weight of borrowed time."
by Dylan Wu Rong
Childhood is defined by innocence,
since the little hearts only know of the beauty,
the beauty of the butterfly,
the beauty of falling leaves,
the beauty of mid-summer night,
the beauty of first winter snow.
It is when those hearts see the hurt,
the hurt in the aging wings,
the hurt in the cold bare tree,
the hurt in the harvested seeds,
......
Leaves
by Ken Ripley
How handy are the leaves that fall from trees,
Maple, Elm, Dogwood, even needles of pine.
I enjoy these trees, yet can’t tell one from another,
Except to appreciate their colors and their shade
And be soothed as each leaf rustles in the breeze.
And I can’t help thinking their story is like mine.
Proud at their peak to driest piles that smother,
The humblest leaf enriches me with every blade.
Leaves, like seasons, grow differently with time.
......
Heading Home
by Ken Ripley
I miss the trees that lined the road,
Their massive trunks and leafy boughs
Changing colors as the seasons passed.
They formed a living wall of green or red
That greeted me when I entered town,
Familiar and comforting as I’d drive by,
A quiet tug of reassurance
Telling me I was almost home.
Year after year, those boughs were there,
......
