Do not be at a liberty To leave little lies lying and leaping about Lock them up in a large lead box Lest they light a fire in your lovely life because
Little lies love to loathe lovely lives Little lies long to link to each other and Form a large lump or a long line Of lethal missile To launch an onslaught of loneliness Upon loving hearts and Tear them apart Like only little lies can do
Little lies lay low Only for a little while They get hungry pretty quickly Limitlessly and Demand to consume larger and larger Chunks of your lively life
Once uttered, apologise Let them not levitate In front of your eyes When they’re little they’re brittle That’s when the damage done can be limited Lose not the sight of The long-term lugubriousness That will not be lulled with a lullaby
Let this be a lesson for life Never let your luscious lips Lose their lustre to little lies because Little lies love to loathe lovely lives
Because death is such a human way of saying that the body is no longer breathing; Calling it a really long nap would make it sound frivolous; It would take away the seriousness with which we dispose off the unconscious mass of flesh and bones; Who or what will comfort the “living” but the relief attained on releasing the body back to Nature — back to where it came from? Because death’s job is to carve out suffering from the victim and divide it amongst the ones left behind Disproportionately
My mother is not dead because death is merely a placeholder — a term used to define the end of the person we used to know for that person has now changed — that person no longer listens to your stories or laughs at your jokes; that person no longer looks into your eyes or waves you goodbye; that person no longer smiles; that person no longer cries; that person does nothing human; that person has changed and that changes you
My mother is not dead because death requires birth and birth is merely a placeholder — a term used to denote the beginning of all that “life” has to offer because a life may be just a collection of chemicals but oh what a beautifully built assemblage it can be: full of proteins, energy, blood hair, hands, legs, nose eyes, ears, lungs, toes and most importantly, love
My mother is not dead because birth is such a human way of saying that the body has stepped out of the womb into the light of the day; How else would you describe the culmination of a masterpiece nine months in the making, resulting in screams of exultation and tears in a small group of adults clamouring to hold the little bundle in their arms? But the baby was there before it stepped out of the womb — in the form of a foetus with its organs growing and maturing, and before that it was an embryo, and a blastocyst, and a morula, and a zygote, and a gamete split half into one and half into another; and if we trace it further back we will reach the “death” of stars; the baby has always been around you have always been around I have always been around in one form or another; only in this form I am conscious with proper feelings only in this form I have a name a proper noun only in this form I get to call her Ma
Frank Solanki 