Poetry #218
(published March 17, 2005)
(published March 17, 2005)
My Father In His Deathbed
If tonight Death comes
what would I tell him,
how would I greet him?
what would I tell him,
how would I greet him?
Silence is the language of Death—
the reason why he is scary.
Silence is overwhelming, suffocating.
If tonight Death comes
I would not say anything.
I would just look into his eyes.
Eyes possess a constant sun.
I would tonight greet Death
with my perpetual sunrise.
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