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Leya 3d
Winds roared from north to south,
As the compass of life lost its aim.
For her groom had already lost his way—
Now, her farewell softly came.

---

While charcoal smothered the maiden's hair,
Yet the dame looked like the winter moon—
Pale; the night was unfair,
Once and for all, her final path illumed.

---

Time rewinds, present intertwines,
A gathered crowd—unique in meaning.
Only she in the portrait could gather the tears,
But never did they care for the old woman buried.

---

Family now bedecked with flowing crystals,
Living eyes weeping loving lies.
Time teaches the weeping crowd:
What’s lost always feels truly precious.

---

Lying above the mantel is the portrait of a girl,
Entertaining the sorrowed crowd.
Ignoring the diamonds over the stage,
As she knows they too will dissipate.

---

No one would shed for the granny,
She ponders while gathering the crystals lost.
The girl in the portrait recalled her theory:
Love is only for the dead at a cost.

---

Justice’s scale now overweighs,
Its back turned against the dead.
What goes around, comes around—
It’s the cycle of birth and death.

---

The old woman now awaits
For the girl in the portrait.
Heaven rings—mirror reflections,
As she now holds hands with her twin.

---

The pain she carried, being lonely,
Finally meets its end-worthy.

And with the following words,
She smiles eternally—

"How could they ever forget you, my older self?
You are beautiful—
For you, heaven awaits everlastingly."
Do share some love.
The poem is about an elderly woman who was ignored untill the day she died. Her death was a reminder to her family that she exists thus they gather at the funeral. The girl in the portrait they shed tears for is the old woman's younger self. Her younger-self portrait conveys the message of how she never was taken care of, let alone have a picture of her clicked when she grew older. The younger girl in the portrait(the old woman herself) reunites with her older version in heaven .
The sparkle in her eyes,                                                            ­                      
                                          ­                                                                 ­           
get fainter every day,                                                             ­                     
                                           ­                                                                 ­            
no one can deny,                                                            ­                                                      
                                                                ­                                                      
that she's fading away                                                             ­                           
                                     ­                                                                 ­  
Sometimes she doesn't speak,                                                           ­           
                                                                ­                                                
there're times she won't eat                                                              ­                          
                                                                ­                                                      
We watch her grow weak,                                                            ­                  
                                              ­                                                                 ­       
as we tend to her needs                                                            ­                  
                                                                ­                                            
There're days she lays in bed all day,                                                             ­ 
                                                               ­                                                         
up inside her head it's okay                                                             ­               
                                                 ­                                                                 ­
Her memories become a haze,                                                            ­          
                                                      ­                                                  
bringing smiles that quickly fade                                                             ­         
                                                                ­                                                      
I wonder what she's thinking today,                                                           ­ 
                                                                ­                                                  
you never know what she'll say                                                              ­          
                                                                ­                                                  
Her skin like tissues in my hands,                                                           ­     
                                                           ­                                                       
she says things we don't understand                                                       ­     
                                                           ­                                                       
  We all love her the best we can,                                                             ­ 
                                                                ­                                                
she is such a strong woman                                                            ­                
                                                ­                                                          
  Pict­ures of family on the wall,                                                            ­        
                                                                ­                                          
  nursing station down the hall                                                             ­           
                                                                 ­                                                 
We can't invoke new memories                                                         ­                                       
                         ­                                                                 ­                        
but that doesn't stop us from trying                                                           ­ 
                                                                ­                                      
Some day's we feel like crying,                                                          ­          
                                                                ­                                              
while we love her while she's dying
This is for my grandmother who I visited while in a nursing home.
rhenee rose Apr 1
I remember that light vividly
Watching peace flicker within the trees
When a crow flew by, whispered something to me

Now, basking in the mourning sun
Everything was still, inert, and calm
Yet I can sense the somber nights to come

Continued my walk while holding my breath
The bugs in the dirt can now hear me wept
It’s time for the sunrise but someone has set
A poem about that early morning in July 2023 when I learned that my grandmother had passed.
Gideon Mar 8
I think this time I’m crying,
Not for the many people I have lost,
but for those I have never had to begin with.
My mother is somehow on both lists,
though I’m sure she doesn’t think so.
My father’s name sits next to hers on the list,
As he always sits next to her. By her side,
And on her side every time, every day.
My grandmother was on the first list
until the day she revealed her soul to me.
Her heart had wrinkles and scars more
gruesome than her youthful smile could hide.

I think this time I’m crying,
Not for the mistakes I’ve made,
But for the memories I didn’t.
My childhood sits at the top of the list,
A foggy blur of grey and white.
My mother’s genuine smile is beside it,
A beautiful sight I think I’ll never see.
My birthdays are each lined up neatly,
Each one a day set aside just for me.
The last thing on the list is scratched out.
Someone I swear I knew once, but don’t
Remember even the song of their name.
Madeon Nov 2024
Loneliness smells like plums
From grandmother's garden
Jack Groundhog Nov 2024
Agèd lady sits,
holding her silver and gold —
Anne, Mary, the Son

Anne’s daughter’s the moon,
sits on the throne of wisdom —
crowned in golden stars

Moon begets the Son
who’s fathered by breath of flame —
Both pierced by a spear

Two women, one son —
A motherly trinity
that shines in splendor
Four haikus inspired by a gilded wooden carving of the «Anna Selbdritt», a medieval portrayal of St. Anne (****** and Child with Saint Anne), mother of Mary, together with her grandson, Jesus; both Mary and Jesus are shown as children.
Àŧùl Oct 2024
20 years ago, I wrote my final exams for grade 8,
And I was among the toppers in the school.

I still remember the socks for the winter break,
How can I forget it, my godgranny wove that out of wool.

She's still alive, my godgranny,
Godsent angel is that lady.

I have little to no memories of my biological grannies,
Both paternal and maternal passed away whilst I was young.

My godgranny now has a gummy smile,
She closes her eyes as she smiles for a mile.

90+ years of age now, she has seen many summers,
And she has also woven so many woolen socks.

Parameshwari Ðéví is her kind name,
And now she's a greatgranny.
My HP Poem #2004
©Atul Kaushal
blank Sep 2024
because she’s still wearing her diamond earrings
and they still bloom
reflections in flour-coated sunsets
in pre-dawned hospital windows at dusk and beyond
they don’t come off
obtrusive and quiet and every spark
bright where her eyes haven’t been
lately she’s not all there so i should be
holding on tightly

because her hands are battlefields
her eyes are blizzards
and she ate half a scoop of strawberry ice cream
just last week it was just the other day
she said my name

because i can see every jolt
her heart now beats
tsunamis that slam her ribcage and there’s no higher ground

because she still sits up in bed head in palms
and asks what day it is like the churches aren’t shut
like her hallways aren’t gathering dust

because when she sleeps she dreams of a lovely ghost
with a shovel and pre-technicolor dirt on his cheeks
and he wants to be with her again

because when she wakes
she wonders before
she remembers
she forgot

because we remember we sit in the living room
we flood our eyes with laughter
and dead lambs and fish and loaves of bread and wooden spoons
and chicken cordon bleu
and i want her to hear and taste and see and smile
again against homemade wine the singing in summer the accordions i never got to hear

because she still asks me what i ate for dinner(though it’s only lunchtime)
and until she can no longer speak--
--written 3/30/20--

because my grandmother is the sternest eagle-eyed
badass stubborn old lady i ever knew and will ever know
and she hates not being able to move her legs and walk or move her mouth and talk
and yell at me and i know
her voice is in there somewhere below the staggering
breaths and mumbles but i can hear her
as faintly as she can hear me
Victoria Mar 2024
In quiet nights my grandma cries
We talk of death and people’s eyes
We miss our words, she sees a vein
I ask her, but she’s not in pain
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