My father sits up on his bed, the room is dark,

the curtains drawn. We all know he is dying

The birth-chart is next to him contains the date and time,

and I dare not look at it. I look into my page,

I do not know how to read the stars.

Years have passed, the Courts are hearing arguments

for and against, for and against. Can I argue

against the death of a father well over 30 years ago?

I toy with my birth chart sometimes, wondering…

I do not know how to read the stars.

I often wanted to shred it and throw it away,

but Baba stopped me, “nothing will change,

the only certainty in life”, he smiled, “is death”

and I let him go. I carry that chart with me,

although I know not how to read the stars.

The ones that tell us until that last moment,

the ones I held out for my father to see

the ones he himself tore open to read

his beating heart weakening every minute

because I know not how to read the stars.