I’m ok

There’s strumming in the distance.
The jazz, the rock, the band.
His guitar’s now up on its feet.
Come fast, hold my hand.

Three years of the illness.
The will to fight has gone.
Please look after yourself.
I don’t think I can hold on.

The last month was a struggle.
Good days here and there.
The coughs, the gasps, pain deep inside.
I’m ok, a smile, take care.

How are you Bala Uncle?
I’m ok. Take care.

Memories. Random memories. Continue reading