Skip to main content

Untitled

                               Image source: pinterest


What peaceful hours I once enjoyed
How sweet their memory still,
When I was with  you
But they have escaped in tear;
And carry the sunshine where darkness is rife
Which the world can never fill.

While I love someone it goes away;
Like a free flow river whither the end?
I'm drowning with my own thoughts
I'm tired of doubting myself whether you are coming back.
Finding the other way in some corner of me
Just to hold your hand.
Wanted so much to speak to you,
But it killing me with your absence and silent.

I smiled through the tears and pain;
Just to see your sweet face
Hidden the tear has fallen,
Saying great when am nothing yet,
Even harder for selling with hurt,
More difficult to have or let go.
How old shall one like dying life be?
All lose and nothing left to gain
Emptiness had booked the room.

Tired with all these,
Save that to leave my age of beauty pain
From now I would be gone
Shall the winsome memories be dead as I have gone
And live no more to sad nor me nor you.

-bryam




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.

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

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...