Watch and Listen to a Reading of the Poem by me.

“But promise me, when my time arrives,
you will let me go without all these fuss
of pseudo concerns and swelling faces
of relatives, friends and dear ones!
I do not want my last sight, here on earth,
to be full of hypocrite pretensions!”


He lay, coiled up in pain, breathing
a perforated desperation 
in and out of his swollen lungs,
belittled and too broken!


“May he recover soon! Should it be so,
with all his wounds gnawing him from inside,
I wonder, can it be called a life any more!
Is breath piled upon laborious breaths the real life?”


But no, that is not the last sight
I’ll have of him either,
the spark that kindled the fire,
I burn as now, even though some shadows
were cast, I must admit,
just as I had in the past, I shall see
him shining as the sacred spark of my life,
glowing eternally, now and forevermore!



20 thoughts on “The Spark That Kindled Me

                1. That we are – the poets –
                  me, them and you
                  nomads, vagabonds
                  and wanderers too
                  But know this that,
                  in our seeking we become
                  the homing beacon
                  of another one,
                  such is the way of life,
                  preordained and divine!

                  Liked by 1 person

  1. “Is breath piled upon laborious breaths the real life?”
    Absolutely brilliant! Your choice of words never fail to amaze me. This piece made me revisit my past as I may helplessly watching my father breathe his last. The true mark of a poet! Take three bows! You truly are the Wordsmith.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. You actually moved this poem forward.
    I never thought anyone could do this.

    And you my father on that sad height,
    curse, bless me now with you fierce tears,
    I pray do no go gentle into that goodnight.
    Rage, rage against that good light.

    Ironically his father was moving toward the greatest light.

    Liked by 3 people

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