I planted a tree
a day after you died.
And every leaf that fell
from the tree
is a tear I have not shed.
This post was first published on Vintage Sapience in May 2018. #FlashbackFriday
Image Credits: The Flaming Candle
Conscious Expressions of Poetry, Reading, Books, Reviews, Love, Life and the Soul! A little piece of my Heart and Mind.
I planted a tree
a day after you died.
And every leaf that fell
from the tree
is a tear I have not shed.
This post was first published on Vintage Sapience in May 2018. #FlashbackFriday
Image Credits: The Flaming Candle
I feel you ebbing and flowing
Clotting and blotting
You are fire and you are desire
You’re life and you are death.
For the #augunfiltered challenge, the prompt was to describe RED without using the word. And here is my interpretation. Red is everything. It’s a very pious color in many religions and signifies so much.
Find more of my original prose and poetry on Instagram, Facebook, & Pinterest.
If you’re looking
for the girl who wrote poetry,
she died. And here she lies,
with a head full of ideas
and a smile brimming with life.
She left her stories behind.
She’ll still be here if you care
In her truest words, in the black and white.
For the prompt: Write 5 lines that would appear on your epitaph. I’m posting daily on Instagram @sv__poetry! I never felt that I was so good to write for my own epitaph. But wanted to be so meta as to do that for the challenge. In our culture, we don’t have burials or epitaphs, which made this even more unique for me. Leave comments about what your preference should be for the words on your stone.
I planted a tree
a day after you died.
And every leaf that fell
from the tree
is a tear I have not shed.
I don’t know what to call you
I don’t know what to say,
I don’t quite know what happened
I fear that we’ve lost our way.
I don’t see the old me
I don’t see the brimming old you,
I don’t see the two big eyes
that brought you back to you.
I don’t feel the warmth of us
I don’t feel the feeling of you,
I don’t feel that smell of love
that flamed our love anew.
Its all a blur of the senses
it’s all the stuff of dreams,
That he ever lived beside us
has gone all up in flames.
Image Credits: Artsology
Drowning in your shadow
Bereft of all emotion
You asked, and I simply let go
Taking over the reigns of my life
A witness to my crimson glow.
I knew what died meant.
When my clothes didn’t change
But hers did.
When my smile didn’t fade
But hers did.
When blossomed red some rose
But that wasn’t the color she wore.
I wasn’t the strong one.
But she didn’t falter.
I was just a child.
Scraping memories, time beguiled.
Wrapped in a love so fierce
Under a watchful eye.
But I am still a child.
Pondering about the last time she smiled.
My one, loving for two.
Doing for two. Dying for two.
I don’t hate that
I know what died means.
Image Credits : HyattMoore
And these walls will never speak again
Because the feet that hung from the ceiling are limp.
Steady now, the hands of paint,
Stands yet another beautiful crimp.
“You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone forever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than the woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you.”
– Persuasion, Jane Austen
The day I’m killed,
my killer, rifling through my pockets,
will find travel tickets:
One to peace,
one to the fields and the rain,
and one
to the conscience of humankind.
Dear killer of mine, I beg you:
Do not stay and waste them.
Take them, use them.
I beg you to travel.
Samih Al-Qasim, Travel Tickets;
translated by A.Z. Foreman.