Skip to main content

Grief |Poem|

Grief /Poem

Image credit: https//www. image search.com

This is how I have dealt 
With grief most of my life 
sharing it on paper
instead of humans
It feels safe that way,
words don't feign sympathy
and paper doesn't stutter
It makes the grief feel projected
As if happening to another person,
Not me, never me, never now
As if I am a mere character
in a distant story
As if the grief will end
after the full stop, after the end
As if fiction will drown reality
And reality seem fictitious 
But of late, of late
the fiction seems to be a maze
A maze I have spent too long in
A period longer than forever
And now, it is too late
to get out of and for
human touch.

If you like this poem or have anything to share, comment below or write at briambredeemson700@gmail.com

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

I cannot say I remember

image credit: pinterest Then suddenly they showed the faces  The change had found where they lived  The names were replaced too quickly  They found where they were hid Circled in wagon filled tragedies  No one rides off to the west Attention now asks for a holiday  While famila is held to the test I cannot say I remember  Reading in foreign tongues  How I wish it were yesterday  And this world today was still young.

The dead don't die

She was burning your garbage, her sari caught fire and she died. He was cleaning your manhole, a pipe burst and he died. She didn't receive he wages, she hung herself and she died. He was wading through the drain, he inhaled poisonous gases and he died. Remember. The dead don't die. When the media turns a blind ear, And the state is unaccountable, When there is no money to send his body back home, and the public is indifferent, when his family is not given any jobs, And the city lives on in oblivion, Remember. The dead don't die. As you build your new house, carelessly discared your waste, As you choose your blinders And preach your progress, Remember, The dead don't die. And when you constructy your walls, And lock your gates, When you look paste the filth, And praise the state, Remember. The dead don't die. *This obituary is dedicated to the undocumented and unreported death of waste pickers, sweepers and manual scaveng...