Grace

He saw a new face,

Sharing, teaching,

A scarf covering

One side of her face,

Her wisps of curly hair,

Her dark black eyes,

Mere glimpses.  She

Was beauty, she was grace.

Till one day, thunder

Roared, the wind howled,

Sheets of incessant rain.

Her scarf blew away,

No match for the gale. And

She turned, he flinched,

Her grace unmasked. He

Tried not to look away.

His face burnt with shame.

Horror. Anger. The scars

From a distant past. Did they

Make her lesser than whole?

But she smiled, she laughed, 

As the rain caressed her face,

Washing away the pain, baring

Her real grace, her unbeaten soul.

Paper Memories

Paper memories

Tiny bits of paper,

Dreams colored and

wrapped with love,

A hut drenched in rain,

A bird too large,

The Sun's bright rays

The river, a boat,

A blue mountain.

She gives you her card,

Glued with imagination,

Painted with dreams,

Drawn with hope,

“I am busy.” you say

Absent maid,

ever-present boss,

Card discarded. Too much

For you to cope.

Tiny bits of paper

Faded colors,

Now line the walls,

Of the empty nest.

The cards are all

that’s left in time.

Time’s flown, so has she, 

taken all the rest.    

You dust each old card,

10 times a day,

Each forgotten moment,

Now a shadow of a wreath.

You pick up the phone,

You call, and you hear

“I am busy, Mummy”

Paper memories’ death.