Time

I never think about time

when I won’t be here , but

I am aware…..

this abode will cease to be

possession of mine….

where others become claimants.

As humans often do ,

all will be striped

thrown on a pile.

Photographs of unknown,

written letters

in foreign language ,

from God forsaken shores.

Hand made tapestries

stitched with patient love ,

will end on a nature strip

for collection.

My garden will miss me ,

remember our conversations.

Camellias will be cut , uprooted ,

removed….

just like some

unfortunate aged folks

once their usefulness expires.

So will geraniums , thyme

( in another world called

mothers little soul ) ,

mint , sage ,gentle aromatic basil.

Ecstatic weeds will flourish .

I’ve seen it before.

However ,

there will be a new world , hopefully

built with conscience ,

eucalyptus trees taller than now , I hope.

Meadows , emerald green

for your children

for your children’s children to run free.

And mountains too

for you to ascend

with human endeavours

towards the stars , without hesitation.

But then….

you might not heed my words

after all , I never think of time

when I won’t be here on this earth .

Except during rare longing moments

for a true home

I am yet to find ,

when Beethoven’s sonata

invades my heart

and stirs the depths of

my wakeful being .

(C) Copyright , Dinka Bednjacic

23. 3. 2018.