Q u i d a m

Dusted notes

I'm buried now, done with strife and hope;

Fair was the evening, brighter was the night;

cloudless the hours, my friend turned thirteen

curls, reminiscing about dark eyes, word

fails to paint, so pleasant that scent rises—

loveliest hues to blue, "Gnelia, I must return."

*

On the wild sea, wandering waves with rustic

wood, you must sit and think of me.

Muses infused with meadow green, fearful gazes

swiftly, swelling, dwindling with night boughs—

She hastens her pace in western sky,

Is it her resting place?

She stands, looking for birds: sighing sadly while searching.

*

Hope parted in spicy groves,

With a firm tugging in sleeves,

Warm smiles cease, dragon-fly finally leaves

Among the dusty sand, twilight meet star toads—

No longer in hums and sighs,

Fluttering delight in children's eyes.

*

I hear the coming, I hear the heavy ring

seconds, minutes, hours passed—

no hope, no power, only despair in heavy breath—

the next morning, it will rise again:

A thing happened, can you guess?

"Mom and Dad, I'm here with you!"

— 20th October, 2023