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/
