Hands of chalk

Little, so little pieces of chalk,
fragments of light, tiny frostbites
against the green sight
of the hospital blankets.
Fragile, so fragile the night,
thin hopes crystalized,
may this day pass by
without fever nor harm.
Desperate, so desperate fight.


Eyes closed, in the dark
I can still touch
those hands of chalk:
there, after the rush,
“be quite baby, hush hush,
the doctor will ease
the pain, I promise, please”
and then light-years of waiting,
the nausea, the soul aching,
our personal golgotha.
there, where we sighed,
cursing time, heavens allmight,
but remained ‘till the very last.


Dear, so dear pieces of life
we spent and left behind,
but still linger in the mind.
Even now, that you’re bold
and strong and fear no cold:
hard concrete behind the chalk.