Picture Imperfect

          To stay till it is time

          To stay

          Some more

In weakness and in

Doubt

To hold on

To the belief

That daffodil still show buds

On a windy March day

Unannounced

And that geese,

Black and white as your

Old pictures,

Find their pond

And settle for a while

          To stay till it is time

          To wonder

Free of age

Numb to pain

Even when the now bitter

Morning coffee

Turns your inside

Out

As if to change

The monotony

Of the daily predictable

          To stay till it is time

          To remember

That there is no last

Word you can murmur or hear

But just a vast silence

Echoing and lost

Behind the curtains

Scented by the dust of times

…And you hold on.

Till a windy February morning

The silence

Of the predictable

Becomes your inner

Chatter,

You hear again

The whistle of the wind

The heart in your chest

And you now feel pain

Shooting down your limbs

And it feels good

For you realize

Why

One has to stay

Till it is time
To live again,

To leave

Again

February 21, 2014

© Vahé Kazandjian, 2014