Must

Bawyad beneveesam

vakhtee eenjur cheezaw

ettefawgh meeohfteh…

 

***

 

See faces

morphed by grief.

See the light leave the eyes

of the bereaved.

See silence

like the conversational cobwebs

of, ‘My love, I do not know

what I could possibly say

to remedy such things.’

 

There is nothing one can do,

nothing to be done.

Like the glimmering black of a bird,

it comes and is known,

and the helpless heart is taken

captive by its leeching talons,

bled of all resilience,

until there is nowhere left to turn

save to God, or else drown

in the oceans of Sorrow

that exist in this World.

09/30/2016

Richmond

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Endless Writer © Ata Zargarof 2020

atazargarof@gmail.com

BC, Canada