Life-ends
are brilliant
like flames
that burn brightest
at death-point;
life-ends
flutter in merriment
gather colors
in the preferences
of a child
uninhibited and unfettered
by reason or propriety;
life-ends hang
on nondescript branches
too old, too weighted,
too weary for re-flowering;
life-ends fall
one by one
they go in street-sweep
and nonchalance,
buried in the pecking-order
of our death-walks,
decked in the fast colors
of the times;
life-ends leave
leave us alone
with leafs from other books
as tattered and forlorn
but avidly read
death-ends.
[Inspired by the photography of Sakuna Gamage, published in the FINE Section of The Nation]
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