same knot,different game

the same knot, a different game.

I am waiting
to find peace
he is waiting to die

(as a somatic affliction
doggedly gnaws away
at his consciousness)

at opposite ends of the house
we sit upon the same knot.

i hear voices
reverberate within my knot
my own mostly,
each in a different tone
each in a different moment
whispers,
screams and audible sighs.
I suspect he hears the same:
an affable induction perhaps,
to the cessation of his life
something proper…
the formality of death is inescapable
it clings to the sound
of mandolins and soft keys.

his back faces the door
and his chest
is embraced by a blank wall.
he sits on the same place
on the bed, everyday.
my grandfather is waiting
to die
yet time has no place
in this composition
so I wonder,
could it be, time has
surreptitiously slunk away?

HIDE AND SEEK.
death seeks
time hides,
camouflaged inside his own
imperceptible skin,
and my grandfather waits
for death to find him, instead,
whilst pacified
by mandolins and soft keys.