Goodbye to My World
By John Herlihy

A day in a life sometimes arrives,
Like no other day that wishes to survive,
A day whose memories will be the last,
A day now firmly buried in the remote past.

The day has coldness amounting to chill;
The day has boldness that can no longer thrill.
We live to experience things more and more;
We do not wish to bid goodbye forevermore.

I experienced one such day only last week;
The day arrived when I awakened from sleep.
I knew that fate had this last chapter contrived;
A final note to be sounded when the day arrived.

To hear rhythms and sounds for the last time,
To hear a word that has no pretense to rhyme,
On that sad last day no one can ever repay,
I heard the sweet birdsong sing a final chime.

Words have a way of immortalizing the utter end;
An event is over when it vanishes round the bend.
A poem contains echoes of things that hold fast;
Like melted snow whose crystals in the mind still last.

The house is abandoned now, only ghosts around;
But even they dare not utter a plaintive sound.
Abu shouts at Ami who shouts with a voice like a knife;
The children running every which way to avoid the strife.

In this desert, the garden trees will surely die;
The wind blows the branches with a careless sigh.
No one around to care is surely the reason why;
The garden grass is dead and gone, I could all but cry.

If I listen carefully, I do hear the occasional creek;
The floors are silent, but there are places that speak.
A mouse scampers up through the bathroom drain;
The roaches run free with no reason to complain.

It is the voices of the children that I miss the most;
They greet me one by one, each my endearing host.
“Do you want a massage,” they would gleefully say.
Yes, indeed,” I reply, stretching my legs where they lay.
“Fetch the mustard oil,” chubby Hassina said hoarsely.
“Get it yourself, my dunce” Laila replied, a little coarsely.

The high-pitched voices of the children no longer shout;
They are no longer seen playing tag and running about.
The smiling faces of the children now vanished and gone;
Tucked away as sweet memory where they will always belong.

The children are gone now and with them all the fun;
I glance around the rooms, once lively second to none.
An eerie silence pervades that snakes its way up my spine.
I have all I can do to wash away tears that within me pine.

It is time to leave for the last, yes, the very last time.
As my heart sinks into an underworld where no sun shines.
I turn away silently as if on a boat drifting far from shore;
I hear the sad creak of the hinges as I quietly close the door.

Goodbye to the nine rough-house children, goodbye to my world;
The scroll of this narrative rolled up, all colorful banners furled.
We will meet again one day; we will surely meet once again;
The children who cuddled and kissed me will be adults by then.