WHEN I SEND LETTERS COATED IN GRIEF
Has my father not taught me of today
In the age longing breath of sadness
That I would sit with pain resting
In the gritting teeths of sober
That I would crumble in chitting thoughts
Jungling between death and pain
Has my father not taught me
Of what it would be when men laid slowly his studied body
That fate would lay him down to Earth
Has my Father not told me
That when he comes crashing down to Ali
That I would clinch between pain and terror
And wail in solemn voices while stealing glances at the black scarf in turmoil
Has my father not told me
That I would shut my mouth in silence
Unexpectant of the outcome of grief
My father didn’t tell me
That I would swallow grief like pills
Squinting at the taste of it’s strength
He hid it from me
That grief was a sword
A stab forever
When I see my father again
I would tell him to wear shoes on his ghost wear
To make mother believe
I would tell him that grief has eaten grudgingly joy
When I see my father
It will be a reunion of lessons
I will send these letters
In which grief has been it’s ink