Praise be! The old year has gone,
we are ready to be born again
here, in the dead of winter,
where saplings are pulled for space
and the stirring season begins.
Slowly, in this bright new year,
new beginnings take shape
as the light of day lengthens on.
After wandering through moonlight,
the poet is born-again under the sun.
Finally the path ahead becomes clear,
garlanded with beautiful sunflowers.
By shining love and light onto words,
joy and happiness become her future
as she finds the courage to be herself.
Success and fluency her just rewards.
After thirteen cycles of the moon,
the enigmatic horseman rides in.
Death, life’s constant companion,
arrives in fetching black armour,
displaying the mystic white rose.
Remaining absolutely victorious,
insensitive to age, race or gender,
he harvests the souls of the dead.
As the poet goes up in flames,
the fire sways under the stars,
unfolding its tentacular arms
to hold tight the wooden box,
while, burning inside, embers
ignite the Soul’s cosmic eyes.
In the graveyard, kinfolk wait
with the hollow already dug.
Sad faces with twisted fingers
upturned to the shamed sky.
Dogs bristle with sorrow,
ready for the howl of death.