Voices, cherished and most dear
of those who we left behind
they are too lost for us like the dead –

Voices, loved and so idealized
of those who formed our minds
they are there, sometimes

in our dreams speaking glowing alphabets
deep in the heart of our self-prophecy
when sleep cleans our neurons

Voices, remain, loving and old
as the first dawn of our being –
and then, the sound of their poetry returns

as life’s first cry of language
like music in the night, sweetly fading
a chorus of moments returned

all at once, spontaneous synchronicity
Voices, the cherished melody of being human.

Photo Courtesy: http://zemotion.deviantart.com/art/Motherland-Chronicles-37-Masked-407999452

7 thoughts on “V

  1. Although I perceive this as memories of loved ones with whom one is no longer in touch in the physical world, “as life’s first cry” almost makes me want to consider even a rebirth with these memories being slowly awakened. Sorry. Sometimes I over-imagine a picture from verse. Anyway, as always, nice poem. Have a good one.

  2. “in our dreams speaking glowing alphabets”

    …”and then, the sound of their poetry returns

    as life’s first cry of language”

    see lines like these inspire me to keep writing…dig deep and strive to make gorgeous homes for my words as well…even when I am tired and/or in pain


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