Grieving the grief

 

Take a shower, wash off the day. Drink a glass of water. Make the room dark. Lie down and close your eyes. Notice the silence. Notice your heart. Still beating. Still fighting. You made it, after all. You made it, another day. And you can make it one more. You’re doing just fine.

grief,

a shout in the void

where birds chirp and sing

meaningless songs of love

and heaven swings

to it’s highest position in prayers

but nothing is left,

at least it looks like this.

 

my mouth is an empty vessel

with a porous bottom

agony slips swiftly

bleeding the red of anger

from my chapped lips,

grief is too thick to slip

still.

 

my fingers are needles

of my mother’s tailoring toolbox,

I weave threats into poems,

and make sweaters out of pain,

it’s a comforting effort

for a dying soul,

grief can’t be woven,

it’s fibers are delicate.

 

my legs are nocturnal,

I take night walks

talking to the merciless moon,

I count dead bodies on stars.

sometimes the sky smiles at my strength,

sometimes it weeps heavily,

but grief doesn’t leave my eyes,

it’s too frozen to melt.

 

grief,

is a poem burning on my lips,

is an intricate thread scarring my fingers,

is a suffocated tear crawling inside my eyes,

is an aglet that keeps pain from unraveling

is a loss you kept coming back to.

 

grief,

is an epiphany,

too divine to be rejected as the present

and

too earthly to be asked in a prayer.

A mystical poetess with a straightforward style of writing. Her poems
question norms and portray naked truth, sometimes subtle sometimes
clearly evident. Sameera took up writing as a means of escape and never
looked back. She is on a constant look out for lost souls like her own, giving
voice to the unheard and painting pictures of the unseen are her favourite
pastime. She blogs at https://poetryblog320.wordpress.com/

An imprisoned poem

 

study, college, and school image

Butterflies perched upon lashes
The dark in my eyes is engulfing all
Stars in yours
A hiccup stung the memory of you
I knit a bag of lies to carry on
Shapely shoulders
Disproportionate bones break like
Twigs under weightless traumas
My demon is a friend in the reflection
A lover without rules or confrontation
My expectation is the sin I pay for
With bouts of sanity
Loss flows from between my legs
When strange fingers pull me at
The seams
Pain tickles like a misunderstood
Melody
I weave blank fetishes
Devoid of your touch, kiss, sweat, you
You; my prisoner
This poem, my liberation

Nameera Anjum

Nameera Anjum is a nineteen-year-old aspiring poet who loves to pen
down her thoughts and feelings as fearlessly as possible. She believes
that the utmost liberation comes to her through words; writing is a
part of life she wishes to keep intact until the very end. Gothic fiction is
her absolute favorite genre while reading and writing. It comes as no
surprise that Edgar Allan Poe is her ultimate inspiration.

Lost Home

 

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The wind has broken down a couple of times
resting on my back
giving me solace
when in fact she needs it more than me
wind, a carrier of good times
doused with the fragrance of a lover's kiss
or soaked in the ecstasy of the first night
in the arms of the beloved
sometimes gets heavy-hearted
soaked by the mother’s tears
They fall incessantly
and dabs her unknowingly
she tells me,
she cares
as she perches from one heavy heart to another
laced with the message of love
a tone of melancholy
in the moments which seem to wither
I too have a heart which feels pain, she says
it breaks her heart to see the last leaf
leaving the arms of that mighty oak
Giggling through the trees
her ephemeral presence in the forest
she is there but she doesn't belong
a feeling of detachment.
she carries remorsefully in her heart
lost in her thoughts
Wind is apologetic at times
like a ghost
sifting through the dead leaves
trying to find her lost home.

 

Megha Sood lives in Jersey City, New Jersey. She is a contributing author at GoDogGO Cafe, Candles Online, Free Verse Revolution, Whisper and the Roar, Poets Corner and contributing editor at Ariel Chart.
Her 290+ works have been featured in 521 Magazine #Sideshow, Oddball, Pangolin review, Fourth and Sycamore, Paragon Press, Royal Rose, Visitant Lit, Quail Bell, Modern Literature, Visual Verse, Dime show review, Nightingale and Sparrow, Piker Press and many more. Her works have been anthologized in  “We will not be silenced” by Indie Blu(e) Publishing, (“All the Lonely people”, Blank Paper Press) and upcoming in 12 other anthologies by US, Australian and Canadian Press. Her poem “Survivor” was selected for the “Survival is Insufficient” series by the Jersey City Writers as part of the event sponsored by the National Endowment of Arts.

She recently won the 1st prize in NAMI NJ Dara Axelrod Mental Health Poetry contest. She blogs at https://meghasworldsite.wordpress.com

A reincarnation

 

It didn’t burn like my ambitions did,
it didn’t break the way ideals always do,
just vanished, like an angel in the clouds,
with wings made of white nothingness
and the feather it dropped is probably fantasy
as on the vestiges of my loss grew tendrils of
a few insipid dreams, fragile as a tentative faith.
The bliss I search now is not in ignorance,
or despite the despotic logic that refutes
and mocks, it’s not in my dreamy escapades.
With an unfounded resolve, I delve deeper
into the excavations of the lost cities of innocence.
Nothing deters me, not the aches of a lost limb,
of the lost wing that once carried a purpose, of life.
At the end or the beginning of another origin
a reverberating voice speaks, to me,
speaks like me, rising without pain
from the ocean within, piercing the
a stone that is now the rational heart.
Not everything is lost, it echoes
in everything you write and as long as you do,
innocence now reincarnated as hope.

 

He likes to be called as ESP and be known for his blog: https://esprambles.wordpress.com
At most he can say that besides the mundane, he loves to read and write or rather ramble.