In Memoriam: Malin69 // Falin Le Malin
Anonymous
Our dear friend and fellow poet Malin passed away last night (Saturday) from complications resulting in stroke. He was hospitalized for a week in critical condition and sadly the news article from his hometown were published overnight announcing his death.
He was known for his quiet demure and lively personality always supportive and kind and willing to learn and grow in writing as well as contributing in Du community in comps and engaging in social threads.
But, his passion for learning every aspect of writing in english went beyond any basic fundamentals of anyone learning the craft. To write for the love of his life.
Few months back, during moment of frustration, he denounced writing, feeling defeated. I asked him, why doesn't he write in french, not only it's beautiful but also his native language. His response was, Rina, don't you understand, english is the only common language I have with her, and yet neither one of us speak it well.
He will be missed !!!
G, my heartfelt condolences to you, I know how much he loved you!
He was known for his quiet demure and lively personality always supportive and kind and willing to learn and grow in writing as well as contributing in Du community in comps and engaging in social threads.
But, his passion for learning every aspect of writing in english went beyond any basic fundamentals of anyone learning the craft. To write for the love of his life.
Few months back, during moment of frustration, he denounced writing, feeling defeated. I asked him, why doesn't he write in french, not only it's beautiful but also his native language. His response was, Rina, don't you understand, english is the only common language I have with her, and yet neither one of us speak it well.
He will be missed !!!
G, my heartfelt condolences to you, I know how much he loved you!
do you have a link to his obit where we can leave a word of condolence to his family?
Anonymous
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The Poet’s Passing
The hand of God, brushed the new-fallen flakes
from his grave,
for even the dead are snowed in.
“Come, my son;
I am in need of a searchlight upon the shores
of the land where there is no ocean,
and where there is no sun,
but where My glory illuminates all
and gives life to the waters of the Sea of Glass.”
He raised our brother up
and deposited him among the Cloud of Witnesses,
leaving the Earthly things to fall away,
and shrouded him in a cloak of righteousness.
“I have plucked you from My garden,
and nestled you in My bouquet
that you may call to them in their dreams
and in their moments of tears,
to press on—
for they must pick up your pen and write
where you left off.”
The son bid adieu
to the things of this world,
and took his place among the heavens of his origin,
for he was here but for a time to make a difference
each day,
until the trumpet of the eleventh-hour
heralded the doorway beyond time and dimension.
“Roll out the scrolls
and sup with Me,
for the wedding of the Lamb is nigh,
and thy honored guest, be seated at My right hand.”
With a wave and a smile,
the son returned home, as his dust,
momentarily suspended,
settled into the ground to nourish all that has not yet grown,
but which is rooted,
as the land sighed
“Malin…”
(In memoriam, “Malin69”, 2/28/2015)
The hand of God, brushed the new-fallen flakes
from his grave,
for even the dead are snowed in.
“Come, my son;
I am in need of a searchlight upon the shores
of the land where there is no ocean,
and where there is no sun,
but where My glory illuminates all
and gives life to the waters of the Sea of Glass.”
He raised our brother up
and deposited him among the Cloud of Witnesses,
leaving the Earthly things to fall away,
and shrouded him in a cloak of righteousness.
“I have plucked you from My garden,
and nestled you in My bouquet
that you may call to them in their dreams
and in their moments of tears,
to press on—
for they must pick up your pen and write
where you left off.”
The son bid adieu
to the things of this world,
and took his place among the heavens of his origin,
for he was here but for a time to make a difference
each day,
until the trumpet of the eleventh-hour
heralded the doorway beyond time and dimension.
“Roll out the scrolls
and sup with Me,
for the wedding of the Lamb is nigh,
and thy honored guest, be seated at My right hand.”
With a wave and a smile,
the son returned home, as his dust,
momentarily suspended,
settled into the ground to nourish all that has not yet grown,
but which is rooted,
as the land sighed
“Malin…”
(In memoriam, “Malin69”, 2/28/2015)
