A Furry White Moth.

Humorous poem about death and wealth.

Ramalingam Subramaniam left this comment on one of my poems:
"Nothing in our hands.we can only do our duty.Whether children will have the same passion as we have or will they overtake us ,really we don’t know; Nothing in our hands.it is with the Almighty." It came to me that this is how I felt after my mother’s death, and I wrote this poem.

Sentencing with compassion while it lasted.

A man’s last wishes for his remembrance after he leaves the world.

Old grave as years go by, less and less people visit or remember.
It falls into neglect without any maintenance.

The loss of a baby.

Children stumble upon the death of a rabbit that was hit by a car and decided on the proper burial.

To Charlie- the greatest horse who ever lived- who just died and is not even buried yet… my best friend…forever.

On my mother’s burial day, my father assigned me to thank our friends and families for their support. But I was thinking of something more. I wanted to say something about her… on how special she is to all of us. I cried after beginning to write this, but I have been stronger during her burial.