I thought I had years,
I thought I had hundreds,

But I only had this one tear
Of a breath left

All of them

Down my cheek
As caress

To recollect

Before it dries
In the wind’s faithfulness;

And what more shall I do
To leave a legacy

To be remembered by
And not forgotten

Like every droplet of rain
That has ever bloomed a bouquet
Of fragrant flowers

What more shall I do?

But leave behind
The blood

From the prick
Of my heart

As a punctured

To water

As a single pearl of dew
Amongst the deluge
That has ever bloomed
A bouquet of fragrant flowers
Dried and strung
For you,

And that,
Will have to be


2021, barefoot poet

{ Photo by Hasan Almasi on Unsplash }