A Grief Ago
People dwell in houses,
Whether in huts or bungalows,
But I do know that inner joy,
Rather than brick or mortar makes them glow.
For the world I was someone,
But for me, my family was my world,
Household chores, mum’s nags, demand of tea from dad
And all those beautiful things I had.
I look back to see my house nowhere,
All except debris, mud and dogs sniffing everywhere.
From the fragments of a hut too small,
The cops discover a youth’s hand from the crevices of a wall.
As I moved towards the place I stood first on my legs,
That seemed like a pile of broken bricks & torn rags.
My legs trembled and my heart skipped a beat.
As I gazed at the home built by my dad’s sweat.
As scenes of the good times lit my memory,
I see my family dining with rotis & onions.
All that was which we could have when hungry.
But the memories fade with little hope of reunion
Regularly visiting the refugee camps,
I see pompous politicians strutting about,
Quenching their thirst for votes by posing before the poor,
half naked, grief struck people.
I knew all their claims, dedications &assurances were all null.
Tear filled eyes scroll through the dead person’s list,
Trying to control the outburst of emotions, do I close my fist.
Alas! My shivering lips read the names of my parents,
For I now realized my parents stayed in this world as tenants.
Though nowhere in the list could I find those already dead,
My visions, dreams, ambitions & hopes that lived in my heart
instead
People say, “Your Present foretells the future,”
Does that mean more darkness, loneliness and tragedies await
hereafter?
As I lay motionless beneath a tree,
I ask God for strength to face the affliction,
With memories, just memories treasured safely in my heart,
I now close my eyes to wake up for a new start.
People dwell in houses,
Whether in huts or bungalows,
But I do know that inner joy,
Rather than brick or mortar makes them glow.
For the world I was someone,
But for me, my family was my world,
Household chores, mum’s nags, demand of tea from dad
And all those beautiful things I had.
I look back to see my house nowhere,
All except debris, mud and dogs sniffing everywhere.
From the fragments of a hut too small,
The cops discover a youth’s hand from the crevices of a wall.
As I moved towards the place I stood first on my legs,
That seemed like a pile of broken bricks & torn rags.
My legs trembled and my heart skipped a beat.
As I gazed at the home built by my dad’s sweat.
As scenes of the good times lit my memory,
I see my family dining with rotis & onions.
All that was which we could have when hungry.
But the memories fade with little hope of reunion
Regularly visiting the refugee camps,
I see pompous politicians strutting about,
Quenching their thirst for votes by posing before the poor,
half naked, grief struck people.
I knew all their claims, dedications &assurances were all null.
Tear filled eyes scroll through the dead person’s list,
Trying to control the outburst of emotions, do I close my fist.
Alas! My shivering lips read the names of my parents,
For I now realized my parents stayed in this world as tenants.
Though nowhere in the list could I find those already dead,
My visions, dreams, ambitions & hopes that lived in my heart
instead
People say, “Your Present foretells the future,”
Does that mean more darkness, loneliness and tragedies await
hereafter?
As I lay motionless beneath a tree,
I ask God for strength to face the affliction,
With memories, just memories treasured safely in my heart,
I now close my eyes to wake up for a new start.
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