Highway

Highway

For a man who left a legacy, photographs, and his motorcycle behind.

We’ve all to take the highway

to a hallowed heaven someday.

Life’s luggage left at the bus stand.

Mere cloth is all that covers this self.

Bare feet follow the way of the highway in this lush desert of memory.

The wind flutters against the body and the sky wraps

her blue guidance around a blazing, bright sun.

The journey seems long.

Ghost fingers envelop an arm; a pretty voice whispers, “legacy.”

From my pockets, an old photograph emerged,

Of a house along a highway with petals and ribbons strewn along the entrance,

It carried the air of a house where much love, laughter, and light resided.

Perhaps it was just the architecture; perhaps it was the family who made it a home.

“I remember” is what reverberates.

A joyful, blessed bond cradled

Its tearful smile as

a Bethlehem lily cradled its light.

Pocketing the photograph back gently,

“Love shall not fade,” a promise is whispered.

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By

-Iairikynti Lyngdoh