Eyes of a ghost: Dialogues of soul  

The eyes of a ghost follow me,
their shape unclear.
There has never been suit of honour,
just shrouds of shame.

No sword in hand, nor embroidery on my hilt.

Just ignominy, clumsiness, an enemy and haunting
eyes. Ever watching. Judge, jury and executioner.

The shape forms, the sword sharpens.
My missing soul never found,
except in hands of strong women.

A revelation in hand, shaped by sword and wrapped in
my torn embroidery.

That pursuit alone has blest me.
I can’t do justice in words, but I have time.

Time to face the ghost.