Death took you away from me,
like a mosquito;
its extended, insidious proboscis removing
the last bit of life from its prey.
It was not a beautiful death.
Now I am unaided
Like a vacant home, unresponsive windows bitter and blind.
Like a wilted blossom,
arms limp at sides.
The final page of a diary printed in blood,
The tempest had passed, its last breath disregarded by the calm that chased.
It is not by machinery but by faith you are saved.
© Nishka Ramkhelawan