Life tends to congregates us in one loving hub of family and friends, wooing us to have and share love for one another, as it educates us with the knowledge of our inevitable end and final separation. But it never empowers us with the secret of bearing its insipid emptiness and harsh betrayal. It is cruel and just not truly fair.
The following poem is an experience also documented in the novel: ‘The old woman’s maid’
A strong gust of air blew
And twin curtains withdrew.
Float horizontally in mid-air,
Like Angles’ wings would pair.
The mother walked in her peace,
Embodied in that first brief glimpse
From within a curtained covering;
Into our world an Angle steps in.
Unique as, loving every person;
Everyone passes her tests’ reason.
Saw goodness, polished badness;
Her large heart sought happiness.
This world her one own family,
Which will see her out, sadly.
Her motherhood a duty not a task,
In her circumstances that lack.
A right for which she had fought,
Is her motherhood in every breath.
She lost physical battles down here,
But won the war with years to spear.
Then she had cancer and died,
Joining all those from us deaths hide.
The victor hasn’t yet flourished
When his vanquished all perished.
Death can only but surely lose,
Yet the fear of him we choose.
He doesn’t get the peace we see.
Then what really, really has he?
He can’t keep us as ornaments,
Passing for the briefest moments.
His power ends where it starts,
Coming and going, never ever lasts.
He reveals two very key lessons
In this very life for all persons;
Where lies a life there are lies
And all roads to a same place plies.
It is really true then and no fuss;
God sends his Angles amongst Us
Takes them when he misses them,
Out of a world that cherishes them.
THE POET IN THE POEM