For my grandfather

He flipped through blank pages
trying to find the perfect page to write
To write about a blank page
which was never destined to be written in
To write about a page
which belonged to a dried out mind

His poems were so often quoted
that they were not his anymore
His stories – so out of moral
They were forgotten for good

So, he slowly opened that blank page
To end the fear of writing again
with a quivering hand and a resolute mind
which foresaw a forgotten thought
and an illegible writing

But instead ended up
flipping through blank pages
trying to find the perfect page to write
To write about a page
which belonged to a dried out mind

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24 comments

  1. Beautiful tribute! As Beingeternal said “the resonance of the quivering hands is deeply felt.”. Moving poem – by a talented poet! β™₯

    Like

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