On occasion, I dwelled on philosophic thoughts, which you might also wish to
ponder about, such as the following short haiku-like poem describes:
"As one minute
hands the universe
to the next
a lot is
lost in translation. "

That part of the voyage also has some interesting, near fantasy pieces, among them are a vision of a giant leopard in the sky following one around; and as a contrary example of the endless boundaries of fantastic images, a dialogue with the waiting laundry.

Significant parts of this book were written while I was escorting my beloved mother, Sara, may she rest in peace, in a serious illness. The part headed "my fears of the death and the life of my mother" describes directly feelings and thoughts experienced during that time: the poems were written during her illness, after she had miraculously recuperated, during the remaining years of her life as a happy person despite her illness-caused disabilities, and after her death.

Naturally, those parts of the book are sadder, for such ordeals are naturally sad. The poems tell of my experiences as my mother nearly died, survived, of her life following that ordeal, of my experience escorting my beloved mother in her old age, and of the final, unavoidable, farewell.

There is a gulf of feelings and emotions in that part, whose boundaries may be stated to roughly lie between the one marked by the poem that starts this part with the words:
"Ever since my mother nearly died,
I am living my mother's death...
I am torn between fearing that she dies
and hoping for her,
that she moves on to the next phase of her existence,
with no suffering, with dignity and love"
and the one marked by the final poem of that part, a lamenting song, which starts with the words -
"pray don't mistake me for a normal mortal
for I am a lamenting soul".

The poetic voyage does not end there, in those lamenting moments.

The voyage moves on - to dwell on the gifts of remembrance of love,
of poetry introduced to me by my mother, and delves into poetic dialogues with Poe's Raven,
Celan's death fugue, and others, such as a frolicking dialogue with one of Carole's jests.

That section of the book is exemplifying the tension between two poles:
One pole, as the last verse of the poem-dialogue replying to Van Gogh's famous last words,
"the sadness will last forever" with the statement:
"There can be no sadness without joy.
and those memories of joy,
I wish to tell that dying painter,
they too last for eternity."

The other pole, of poetry's therapeutic nature, as another's poems last verse states:
"For Poems, sadly, are not shields, either.
And yet, after the mayhem,
when you seek healing,
when you seek escape
from the pain and the sadness,
Poems will always come for your help.
For Poems are not swords."

The voyage ends with a tone of hope, as the final poem of the book suggests in its final words:
"even though the horizons
are darkening
there may still come
a leaping ground
that will help one see -
where there is life
there is hope."

I hope with whole my heart that this book shall be such a leaping ground for you, dear reader.