Monday, February 3, 2014

The Journey

The silence spoke loudly
I cringed at my folly 
How can the dead talk?
But who am I to judge?
As the digits remind me 
The birth of a dead person,
The irony strikes me hard -
I keep wondering should I cry
Or should I shove him into 
The bottomless abyss of fugue?

Birth and death are but 
Two phases of the jaunt
Life is nothing but an inn,
The journey has to go on
Birthdays mark days of arrival
The exits marked by funeral 
For if there is an entry,
Be ready to go away
For life is nothing but an inn
The soul has now moved on... 

Picture Courtesy: Google Images

Of Little Trips and Great Learnings

The other day, we (some staff, volunteers and service users of Mary Seacole House, Liverpool) went on a day trip to Llangollen. This wasn&#...