Lost

Can I borrow
a bit of smile,
a shoulder,
someone’s whispers
that all will be fine,
so I feel saver on this Baltic sea,
with waves in dark green shades,
yet sunlight on water?

And maybe I need to steal
some of a bedtime story-trust,
for a happy ending
on our white sailing ship
finding its way
back to the port
of Hamina.

Can I have some childish faith
that this journey
will bring us to port?
Even now
the ship is sinking, the
captain’s drunk
and the compass lost.

Deep red

I know this flower, new and precious,
will only bloom for a week or three,
but it will make me see
the beauty of living,
the fullness of red,
the meaning
that I seek.

Like a friendship
that passes through in life
to disappear again,
the flower will be gone
soon after blooming
but unseen
in the ground
I know it will have found
a place for better times.
And I shall wait
for its return.

When all is over, is it? NaPoWriMo

The final stroke to make a painting
makes it a painting. The last words
ever said in life, rounds up a life.

But is the canvas really finished?
Won’t conversation go on
somewhere else beyond your time,
when you are gone?

Your paint will come to me
in water shades, on trembling days
of Summer heat.
You will speak to me through songs
of birds in evening skies.

Do keep some paint, save it for immortal day.
On days when everything is dark
when here on earth your work is done,
when I listen to the blackbirds speak,
I shall think of you and that you are not gone.