Death
is far, dirges are numb
The
writer never dies
A
picturesque wording of imaginations
The
embodiment of imagery and hope
Death
is far, dirges are numb
The
writer never dies
Her
artistic fingers massage your soul
She
toys with the words till you feel her joy
Death
is far, dirges are numb
The
writer never dies
The
last spade of sand, a padlock to her memories
She
lay in the arms of peace, enjoying it cuddles and tickles
Death
is far, dirges are numb
The
writer never dies.
She
tapped the sweet juice of our minds
Smoked
out the creativity in our fingers
Death
is far, dirges are numb
The
writer never dies
The
words penned,
The
numen of letteric rhythm from
A
walk to the market, a stroll by the seaside
The
honking, the shouts, the giggles and chuckles
The
mourn, and scolds.
An
inspiration to her interior décor
Death
is far, dirges are numb
The
writer never dies
So
we gather to celebrate the legend
Not
to mourn but to share heroic.
Not
to cry but to ply ourselves with the fingerprints
That
never fades.
Death
is far, dirges are numb
The writer never dies.
In memory of Maya Angelou
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