photo: aryan nair
Curtains cascade over my eyes,
The hands of darkness cold over them;
Night has fallen, the sky is coal,
With specks of ash glittering through;
And I know, deep in my heart, he’s standing near -
Hands folded, head low, alert at his door;
Not here to tend to the wound,
Or to leave me withering in pain;
No, Death is here;
He whispers in my ear-
He’s here to take me home.
At long last, he’s here;
He’s here to take me home.