“When I die,
return me to nature.
I don’t want to be in a wooden hug,
that’s as dead as I’ll be.
I want my hands gripping grass,
and my lungs filling with dirt.

Don’t give me flowers,
if they’re not planted
on my last blanket.

One day I’ll die,
until then, I’ll enjoy
every second of being.”

A.V.

“I met you once.
In a world alike my own.
I now live like they and I,
but something isn’t known.

I met you once.
And only I I saw,
the stranger, you, in awe.

I met you once.
If I could call it that.
‘Cause in a simple night,
I loved you,
and I left.

I dream that I come back.”

A.V.

“I am in the room again.
Heavy heaves come from the machine,
that help make perfect breaths.
Your voice is soft, your hands are warm,
and I see less life than yesterday.
Tears come from my parents eyes and I
I can’t cry.
Yes, my voice is blocked and my eyes burn
But I can’t cry.

Your world isn’t bigger than this tiny room.
The sun won’t shine on your face again.

Your kids are here.
They all came to see you.
It hurts to see them say
goodbye while you sleep.
I can only watch.
I try to put on a brave face.
I still can’t cry.

Tears don’t come to say
how much I miss you already.”

A.V.

“The house is full of cards and flowers.
On the dinner table, the tv-stand, the kitchen counter.
The cards are taped to the door.
You don’t get to see them,
but they all mention you.

The house is full of flowers.
Big ones and small ones.
They bloom now that spring’s here.
All different colours and shapes.
You can’t smell them anymore.

Your picture is on the shelf.
A radiant smile against the grey.
You’re with them again.

The house is full of flowers and cards.
All addressed to me,
while they’re meant for you.”

A.V.

“I walk into a room,
someone pats a chair beside them.
I don’t look them in the eye,
but admire their brown loafers.
‘How are you, kiddo?’
Her voice is sincere.

‘Good.’
I lie.

I walk into a room,
she pats the chair again.
This time, I sit down.
Her trousers have a stripe.
‘How are you, kiddo?’
Her voice is soft.

‘I’m okay.’
I choke back.

I walk into a room.
she pats the chair like usual.
I look up carefully,
she has the slightest lines.
‘How are you, kiddo?’

‘I don’t know.’
I recognise my own face.”

A.V.

“If the stars had been aligned,
I would’ve known.
I would’ve felt it in my bones,
and seen it in your eyes.

If the poem had been written,
the title would be lost.
The line would have been crossed,
My heart be long since stricken.

Darling, I have to tell you something,
or my head might explode, give out.
It’d shatter my heart, my feelings.

Words are not enough, my dear.
No language has the answer.
But the way you make me feel is clear,
A poet and a dancer.”

A.V.

“Across me, there sits grief.
A person dressed in colours.
He tells me that the missing stays.

His eyes are like the marbles,
out the jar I sold.
His arms I do remember,
though now they are a little cold.

Across me, there sits grief.
A figure so well known.
He says he comes in waves.

The details are a little vague,
the sun had burnt it black.
But their fading voices,
still tell me about love.”

A.V.