When it is my turn

This is what I feel now, but then, I don’t know what my state of mind will be when I really do face the prospect. It’s easy to spout brave words from the safety of your life stretching in front of you.

When it is my time

To take leave

Of this abode of mine

Life, do not hold me back

Turn off the lights gently

Let me steal away

Imperceptibly

Do not hold me back

Either with tears

Life saving medicines

Life maintaining machines

Or under sense terminating

 Anesthesia

Not for me the tracheal tube

That robs me of my human speech

Not for me the forced

Oxygenation of lungs

That no longer want to breathe

No, not for me the marvels

Of state-of-the-art medical science

That hooks me by tubes

That feed me juice

To keep me alive

Beyond my allotted time

And more tubes

Oozing  with

My body fluids

Blood red, jaundiced yellow

For everyone to see

And strap me to monitors

That display every twitch of

My fragilities

Not for me the confinements

That break my spirit

And turn me into

A shadow of myself

I no longer recognize

Not for me the chemicals

That leave me weak

As I’ve never known me

To be

Not for me the blood thinners

The chest de-congesters

Or the electromechanical devices

To kick-start my faculties

That want to cease

Not for me the hospital bed

Where I’m bereft

Of every shred of human dignity

Nor for me the administrations

Of doctors, although skilful

Who hack my carcass apart

To put new life back

Into a body that wants to depart

When it is my turn

Give me the strength

To say  –

Life – Set me free for I did not ask to be 

Life – Let go of me for I no longer want to be

Life – I am free for I do not ask to be

-by Rita Putatunda

The Fledgling

Teetering

Between earth and sky

Poised on the edge

Of a mountain cliff

The sea breaking crashing

In silent froth

Far down below

The fledgling braces itself

Against a gusting wind

The unmovable earth

Holds its captive firm

Loath to let go a spirit free

From its unrelenting grip

With tender talons

It grips its life’s skin

With awkward flap

It unfolds its tender will

Tottering swaying rocking

It lets go -- into the wind

-by Rita Putatunda

will you my friend

will you my friend
witness my burning pyre
when it's time for me
to make my last journey

alone i had come into this world
alone i will return into the unknown

will you strew the ashes
from my burnt pyre into
the holy waters of a river

will you my friend
think of one who was
an unknown who had come alone
and has gone on alone unknown

will you my friend keep me
in your thoughts
each morning in your prayers
each day in your daily chores
each night when your eyes you close

-by Rita Putatunda

I Am…Eternity

I am Earth, Sun, Moon

I am the genetic blueprint

Of the stars that shine

In the rivers of Milky Ways

That spread their gossamer wings

Across Universes of Time

I am Rain, the Forests

That drip golden honey, deep green

I am the cloud that wafts

Mists of Life, from pasts

Into the present moment, now

Into futures unknown

I am the blue fire in the lightning

The thunderous roar in the thunderstorm

I am the Dance of Destiny

I am Eternity…

I am the beast

That has no soul

In my black yawn

The Universe I swallow

Clamped in my blood-red fangs

With one gigantic gulp

I extinguish the throb of Life

With a mighty crunch

I snuff out the pulse of light

That shines through

Millenniums of Time

With a slash of my giant claws

I rip, I tear, I slash, I shred

With a gnash of my monster jaws

I crush, I mangle, I mash, I smash

I destroy, obliterate, annihilate

Existence into Non-Existence –

With my monstrous breath

I breathe out eternal black fires

Through my empty eye-sockets

I emit fires of black ashes

From my gaping mouth

I spew forth eternal emptiness

In my twisted entrails

Churn slime and rot

With my giant feet

I dance the Dance of Death

I am the End…

I am Life Immortal

In the slime, in the rot

In the petrified putrefying decay

Are buried seeds of my Birth

Which springs forth

In tender shoots of green

Which flower and breed, Time anew

From my eye-sockets

Bursts forth again, radiant light

In my giant black yawn

A new Universe is born

New Earths, new Suns

New Moons and new sparkling Stars

Swirl and whirl to a new tune

And mists of time I collect anew

In my giant cupped hands

Which churn and coagulate

Into memories renewed

And the rain in the new forests

And the new lightning with the sheen

Of tempered new steel

That rents the new skies

With tongues of new blue fires

And the rumbling thunder

That roars with new voice

Coalesce and combine

To orchestrate new melodies

That swell and fill my soul

In a new crescendo

And my giant feet move

To the new rhythm and beat

In a new Dance of Destiny –

I am… Eternity…

-by Rita Putatunda

The Woman

Daylight is slowly abating

Night is a long lonely street waiting.

The crow and the pigeon

Are winging their way across an ebbing evening sky.

The shadows are lengthening stretching creeping fingers

Across the stray grey grass on the flaking footpaths flanking the purple street.

Making old the phantom trees - their wraithlike arms merging into magenta skies.

The ghostly buildings and the blind streetlights melting into the charred shadows of the night.

In the dimly lit lane at the end of the lonely street

A bunch of stringy street dogs get into a snarling fight.

The house stands alone and still on the empty street.

Its eyes dead yellow lights, its walls peeling grey skin – faintly familiar.

An overgrown garden filled with thorn and weeds.

A girl singing a song on the swing winging squeak squeak.

Olive dusk skin, silky black hair flying in the still wind.

Singing with her childish voice flying high in the sky on broken wings.

From deep inside the bowels of the house I hear a voice quavering

Calling my name –

I peer in through the windowpane, tapping on the grimy glass

I call to the woman sitting in the shadows, in the corner of the room.

A traveller I am, travelled long days and nights I have, and on my way home – I say

Tired I am of bone, weary I am of feet, why are you calling my name – I ask

With the slow step of beleaguered time the woman rises and brings her face to me

Her eyes empty sockets, her face peeling grey skin – strangely familiar.

With sudden shock, all at once I know – The face facing me is ME!

My mind stumbling, shouts – If she is I, then who am I? If I am me, then who is she?

Dead street with your flaking path, dead streetlights with your empty sockets, dead house with your peeling skin – TELL ME!

Only the street dogs snarl in reply.

 In the overgrown garden filled with thorn and weeds

An empty swing winging squeak squeak squeak squeak.

-by Rita Putatunda