He knew everyone but he sank into oblivion.
He knew everything but still had to die.
He was one of a kinds
but he is no more.
He knew everyone
but still died and dried
upon autumnal shoots of loneliness.
He knew everything
but still expired on branch
of
waist and worthlessness!
It was my dad siting over there
with his wrinkled tiny double chin:
deliquescing into the drain of unknown
lost between the worlds,
bewildered like a chilled:
Is your chin, the throat of a sand machine,
pouring form wisdom to blank again?
to repeat everything from zero ?
What did dad happen between your eyes
and the bewilderment of the truth?
What exchange did change the chore of your time?
What cache carried and buried your willingness of "to be,"
to the
carcass of your "not to be?"
