Counting Heads at my Funeral

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A flower rusted out of time – I sleep
Counting heads gathered at my eve.

What needed always – a truth
I am mating,
For I was born and waiting.

The shore shows up brightening everything
–White as if mother’s milk
And I am a little child of that nature
–Fed to the time’s kill.

Memories, as I hear you say goodbyes 
to me, keep coming and I see.
I see all that has gone by, all that we miss
–You and me.

I see the hearts unopened,
Love unbuckled,
And mouth never settled.

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Gautam Kumar

Gautam Kumar has been the chief editor of TBW(The true-blue Words) and written content -Essays, Articles, and Poetry since 2018. He has written many pieces for various magazines, website content, Poetry, marketing articles, and SEO content.