Writer’s poem Wednesday is back. The past few months I was away, I came across some great poems which were previously unfamiliar to me. I love striking a chord with new poetry. Today’s poem talks about a woman whose son resembles her deceased brother, both in mannerism and physically. Its a beautiful reflection of the aftermath of the death of a loved one. I hope you like it.
A drink of water by Jeffrey Harrison
When my nineteen-year-old son turns on the kitchen tap
and leans down over the sink and tilts his head sideways
to drink directly from the stream of cool water,
I think of my older brother, now almost ten years gone,
who used to do the same thing at that age;
and when he lifts his head back up and, satisfied,
wipes the water dripping from his cheek
with his shirtsleeve, it’s the same casual gesture
my brother used to make; and I don’t tell him
to use a glass, the way our father told my brother,
because I like remembering my brother
when he was young, decades before anything
went wrong, and I like the way my son
becomes a little more my brother for a moment
through this small habit born of a simple need,
which, natural and unprompted, ties them together
across the bounds of death, and across time …
as if the clear stream flowed between two worlds
and entered this one through the kitchen faucet,
my son and brother drinking the same water.
There are mornings
When my spirit is filled
With the songs of the
Alive… in tune…
and i I am up for laughter,
There are mornings
When one word answers
Are all I can muster-
Bye… but I really dont mean
Bye, more like an
“I’m sorry it feels like the weight of the world is heavy upon my shoulders”;
It feels that way, and I want to unburden and say something nice, but I cant”.
I am still trying to get
My bearings and navigate
I am still trying to understand me.
Depression didn’t knock on my door,
It opened it,
As it always did,
Without an express invitation.
Depression is not a guest,
Moving in at whims
Doesn’t take no for an answer,
Does as it pleases.
When the sun graces
The sky- with its presence
And I try to will myself
There depression is.
Sitting, beside me.
Sipping from the same cup
Depression didn’t knock on my door,
It waltzed in.
But there are days,
When I can battle it enough,
Just enough- to go through
The day without crashing,
Enough to smile at strangers
Enough to go to work,
I can almost defeat it.
This poem is in response to a previouse poem I had written a year ago: A conversation with depression. I had always wanted to write a part 2, and after taking this impromptu hiatu, I thought this would be the best start for me. I missed blogging and the entire community ❤️❤️❤️
The first time was labelled a mistake,
The second- a slip of the fist;
The third time was claimed due to fatigue,
By the fourth, I was used to it.
The fifth time, I filled up a complaint,
But withdrew, only for a sixth to occur.
By the seventh- I wiped off the blood stain,
Cold packs and analgesics would do.
The eight time, I felt oh so grateful,
There were no blood, just minor bruises.
The ninth time, I looked at the mirror,
at a person, I no longer knew.
The 10th, the 11th, the 12th time-
And my memories can no longer count;
The first time, He labelled it a mistake,
And I was blind to see It was a choice.
A choice… not a slip of the fist.
Hello everyone, I would like to apologise for my absence. Currently writing my finals, finishing soon though. I wish I could write and post and read your works, but there is only 24 hours In a day and at this point, every minute counts… will be back soon
Have you ever wished you could leave your loneliness behind and it would never catch up to you? I do understand, sometimes, it is one of those experiences which is part and parcel of life. But at times, loneliness stays for a longer time than it is wanted.
Loneliness is not spending the day all alone in your room. It creeps up on us and wraps it cold arms around us, regardless, if we are alone or in a crowd. No wonder, we sometimes wish we could leave it behind. Today’s poem by the phenomenal writer, Naomi Shihab Nye, touches on this same topic in a few lines. I hope you enjoy it.
The Rider by Naomi Shihab Nye
A boy told me
if he roller-skated fast enough
his loneliness couldn’t catch up to him,
the best reason I ever heard
for trying to be a champion.
What I wonder tonight
pedaling hard down King William Street
is if it translates to bicycles.
A victory! To leave your loneliness
panting behind you on some street corner
while you float free into a cloud of sudden azaleas,
pink petals that have never felt loneliness,
no matter how slowly they fell.
We are society.
You, me, her, him.
We are the man with the gun
Bringing an end to another soul;
We are the man on the street,
With hands outstretched
Just one more meal.
We are the woman looking behind
In an empty street,
Hands trembling, praying
for a safe return home.
We are the man with the hoodie
And white powder in his pocket,
We are the kid with the money,
We are society:
You, me, her, him.
We bleed society.
We stain society.
We make society.
We blame society.
It is neither a wall, nor a street,
A road or a bottle.
Society is you and me.
Do you get what I’m saying?
The sun sprayed gloriously upon my skin, the mockingbirds sang the tune of my soul, natures forces whispered to me and I felt renewed, rejuvenated…. That, is not how it happened. I wish I could say that was it, but it wasn’t it.
It took a tragedy to pull me out of my darkness. A tragedy so great, I expected it to plunge me further into darkness’ clutches. I didn’t just wake up and decide to take hold of life; I woke up, and Life happened to me… That woke me up!
The sun did shine gloriously that morning, the hummingbirds sang, and nature’s forces were aligned in their greatest- but one person didn’t.
How it started, I can’t even remember. And before we could figure out our lives, the drugs had taken control of us. But that’s the thing about addiction, you don’t realise it is a problem until It has it’s cold arms, wrapped tightly around you in an unrelenting grip.
She didn’t wake up. I watched her lying there, with too many tubes, looking the most peaceful I’ve ever seen her, the doctor’s words amplified in my head; not a single visitor, not another friend present… I knew, unless I changed something, sooner rather than later, It would be me lying there.
I wish I could say, I simply woke up and decided to change my life. It took a tragedy, to pull me out of my darkness.
No longer scares me,
Neither the darkened alley,
Nor darkened rooms.
I have seen darkness,
On a bright summer day,
In the hearts of fair men
Melt most people away.
I have heard darkness,
Through the words of women,
Covered up head to toe
I have felt darkness,
From hands that pass the
At religious gatherings.
No longer scares me.
I have seen enough of the dark
To know, the worst there is-
Hides in plain sight.
A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of reading the words of a fellow blogger, Kailee Venzin. It struck a chord with me. And today, I have the pleasure of sharing it with all of you, for my writer’s poem Wednesday.
Yes, I know, I should have posted a contemporary poem but this really, is a great one. I hope you enjoy. Do check out her blog for more poems at: https://innervoicewriting.wordpress.com/
I have seen the world gone mad by Kailee Venzin
I have seen the world gone mad,
seen women bolstered by deep aches
and sly “handshakes”, burning
flags and setting the world on fire.
But I feel lost,
swallowed by a fever.
I drift as if someone took a bite out of me
and spit me out into the world.
I want to stop living in fear of losing another part of myself.
I want to be a lighthouse in the city,
call all my sisters home.
I want to pull the lost ones in,
be the blanket around their trembling bodies.
I want to feel the rebound of heat
of my breath on their necks, whisper-
It’s okay to be broken.
We’re beautiful broken.
I want to be a pussy willow,
that furry young catkin
whispering on her skin.
Soothe her like
that softness did for me as a child.
I want to shout-
You don’t have to wear hard soled shoes
to walk over the rocks.
You can wait til your feet have calloused.
You can wait til your shoulders are strong enough
to hold your body upside down.
I want to take every broken child,
their butter skin between my sidewalk hands
Don’t you dare lose that
wild wonder in your eyes.
Don’t you dare forget
that strength in your pelvis,
the fervor that carried you home.
You can be broken,
Oh, so broken,
And still be strong.
110 of my sisters were taken today.
No yesterday… no,
It’s been a week now.
I’m losing my mind?
Just like the government who claimed:
No, they weren’t taken.
No, they’ve been rescued.
Ohh we’re sorry.. yes they’ve been taken.
Under the watch of their leaders,
Awakened to the news their daughters,
Have been taken from their schools.
And the leaders stay sheltered,
In their villas and mansions.
110 of my sisters are gone,
And their leaders are radio silent.
The mothers at weeping,
The fathers are grieving,
My sisters have been taken by men,
Known to show no mercy.
110 of my sisters were taken from school,
To the leaders, I say this:
It could have been your daughters too.
MINI RANT: 110 girls were kidnapped the past week from their school. All that these girls and their families wanted, was an education, and now they’ve been taken. At first, the authorities denied that the girls had been taken before eventually admitting it.
A few years back, over 200 girls were kidnapped from their schools and we are yet to rescue over a 100 of them. This doesnt give us much solace regarding the girls taken now. There’s a saying: Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me. It is a shame that we, as a country allowed this to happen again. All these girls (Dapchi Girls) wanted was an education, I pray we get them back safe and sound….. Its been 9days!!!!