Monday, July 19, 2010


There’s grief around the edges
No letters on these pages
My anguish are my wages
The say its murder, mother.

No, I just can’t cope
Can’t wait for hope
I fret the walk
And live as the bug

Tiny things stuck in my head
As the mines in some fertile plain
Its noise in my veins; silence in my head

Like lonely footfalls in temple’s stead
Did I buy this ticket to my demise?
A roller-coaster to Hades?
Like sunk in ruin’s sea.

Couldn’t they say it’s another, mother?
Won’t they take the shroud of soot from me?
Would they let the noose soothe me?
And bring my age to shame?

Agwoturumbe and the law, never denied
I told it, it was us
I, she. Our blood curd
Our red killed us.

I await grief’s hood
As my night comes in knots
It will get uglier soon, they say
When my sorrow takes the colour of my pain.


Laura said...

Me gusta

ZACL said...

This is not just about grief. There is a broad spectrum in a constrained channel, and I wonder if this is more about the dichotomy of breaking out of constraints while wishing to stay with what you know.

Endi said...

No, Zacl, the subject while constrained seeks release which unfortunately will remain a mirage until 'his sorrow takes the colour of his pain'. Its meant to be a straightjacketed eexpression of grief...

Endi said...

@Laura...¿En serio? Gracias...