I am able to see visions in solitude’s stare
These blessings are misunderstood by many, though are gifts that are rare!
Now I see a vision of my Mother out there
The beauty of her making a circle in thin air
And the ink of my blood of love spills in these lines
They are of nectarine taste; ambrosial, sweeter than any wine!
Mother’s words are themselves a rhapsody in beatitude
I know such grace takes me to the highest altitude!
Mother is still a gift to me, though she is not corporeally present
An obituary doesn’t befit, though, as she is so spiritually incandescent
And I have versicoloured bouquets of flowers, as much as those of kaleidoscope stars
That I can sense the aromas of, at any untimely hours
And there’s even more beauty of latitude when Mum adorns the space
accompanied by Dad, with his face of heart-wrenching grace!
I have lived my life without aspiring for material bets
Even when my dead pets arrive, it is better than any wealth gets
And if you can tell the hobgoblins of reality are where your sun sets
You’ll see that light rises as inner meets outer in a space of warp jets
And if you are made of that unique ether, your difference doesn’t fear
The lies of men out there who want to schizophrenise your clairvoyant cheer!
So be it that the Sun shares its light to all things (not the Moon, though) right up to Pluto
When they are rapined by White (Alba) Fangs or (False) Victorious Light Pangs though, you must them all unfortunately veto!
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