Poetry: We Are Three Left


We swim steeply and deep
For answers beyond reap.

Questions pop up more and more.
Our will broken. One gone, then another. One more
And we’ll give up on the war.

Two gone, three left,
Holding the fiery pot of poetry with deft,
Ink squiggling thoughtful answers as weft
Woven beautifully to seal the brewing bereft.

The fire burnt everything;
Human, beast and sand
In her earthly cleansing.

The shadow lost a hand
Strangling the toe of regret
To pay up her third generation’s debt.

These are more than numbers;
Day. Night. A rivelled account.
3 moons, broken belief and the splash of umbers,
A toll for the 3 dying to live in this fount.

In the beginning, there were six
Until demons cease
And the Angels insist

Angels with broken wings
Tired to walk on twigs
Two less counter defeats

Voices died and left a body
Soul emerged from a void
All these, spirit watched in parody;
An entity; Soul, Spirit and Body

All was calm but void .
Bringing all to the nest and few to avoid.
Eulogizing and giving essence to a mass.

Race and place where unrecognized
In oneness meshed and left to synthesise,
But this too came to pass.

Winged time impressed a scar as a cleft.
And for today we are three left,
living in time but placed in a class, transcending with emotions fragile as glass.

Distant relatives we are,
But in the same body we live
Until death do us part.

Until death do us part?
No, not even death can keep us apart!
For we are three left in one.

Together we smile in pain,
Together we drain the brain.
Together we laugh hard and cry
Forever it is ” Me, Myself and I”.


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