It was a funeral
and I felt that the dead man
was reading my thoughts
better than I could.
The organ was silent, the birds sang.
The grave out in the sunshine.
My friend’s voice belonged
on the far side of the minutes.
I drove home seen-through
by the glitter of the summer day
by rain and quietness
seen-through by the moon.
translated by Robin Fulton
Being Present for the Moment
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Illustration, Concept Art & Comics/Manga
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
An online activist from Bosnia and Herzegovina, based in Sarajevo, standing on the right side of the history - for free Palestine.
A place where I post unscripted, unedited, soulless rants of a insomniac madman
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Off the wall, under the freeway, over the rainbow, nothin' but net.
A virtual cabaret of songs, stories and questionable life choices.
Artist by choice, photographer by default, poet and author by accident.
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L'essenziale è invisibile e agli occhi e al cuore. Beccarlo è pura questione di culo
In Kate's World
Leonard Durso 
‘my friend’s voice belonged to the far side of the minutes’ – so apt
I’ve had two friends go to that far side since 2016, one just a little over a week ago. So yes, I find it very apt, too.
sorry for your loss Leonard.
Thank you, Maureen. But as you know, loss is something we must get accustomed to as the years move on.
I nearly said that, but was afraid it would sound trite…
Trite or not, it’s true.