Rema Pisharody, Author at The WFY

Mother’s Touch

I capture the last gleam of my eastern prayer roomGolden it’s glimmer to guide me when shadows break the fencesValley

First rain of April is of hopeAhead of a reddened sweltering SunAnd the parched up leavesof olive and peace..Puzzles unresolved

Dear meI think it is important to write a letter to meIn fragrance of loveTo cherish the goodness in me,I

Mist falling ahead of the fire that of autumnMeasured in celsius, minus now in one pole of the heartFlowers, dreams,

The last sentinel is the light that glows from withinThe only truth is the one that conscience knowsNot necessary an

The storm that hit across the shore was vileNo word of truth or distance silenced its roarArmed from their hideouts

Fewer by fewer thoughts leaving the once heavy lifeComing out of a circled loop breaking a flower shaped seasonSaving a

Like mist there covered a layerA layer that of concealmentOf all the miseries of this worldIn one frame of truthPinned

Life is a blessing when it is realWhen not surrounded by pretendersHeart ignites a chaste ray of hopeIn solitude where

Truth in its simple ancient vesture hidesSoundless like a savant in ruminationUnable to bind the significant pagesHistory lags behind centuriesIn