When memories of separation due to death ripple and my heart aches,
Until the lashes of the two gems on the temple stick together and the eye bags beneath are swollen,
Perhaps I would stand during the day to look at the flowers though it rains
But the same does not happen in the night and intensifies the pain.
A word or two would comfort the broken heart
But denial and rejection in the latest conversation from the loved ones are now an art.
Emptiness entails, confidence betrays then silence prevails.
A recourse to Mandala is a route to escape.
Sprinkled feathers 