chrysanthemums
1
Soulless cemeteries spanning out,
no headstones to mark the dead,
the living know their dead,
thick fog, has the morning light not chased you?
wet grass and chrysanthemums.
A young woman,
Or is it a little girl?
Nevertheless, an unweeping but grieving child stands over the recently departed,
The funeral still lingers about
God scorns her for this, still she kneels,
funeral goers had whispered about the wicked child who had not wept for her mother,
how does one weep when their tormentor has perished.
mother? I shall now say it all,
all that could not be said whilst you lived,
an end is upon us,
and we parted as enemies,
there’s no more to add,
so i shall say what remains.
2
Dear mother,
I speak as a wounded soldier,
Fear not,
This is not a reading of your sins and disgraces,
This is a wandering orphan’s attempt at peace,
The child you maimed and hurt now speaks out against you.
There’s a reason I say these words to you with the veil of death separating us,
If I were to callously say them to you living, do I not end up with your manners?
Are you remorseful?
Do the angels remind you?
That in dishing out kindness, i was in your periphery
It is your lack of mercy that made me a Godless woman.
Good Lord,
Give her to me one more time,
Spare her! I ask for her sins to become my own
Return her as my mother, I regret how it is that we lived.
I am at her grave, and I repeat in regret;
Maybe if I learned another language, then I’d understand you.
Maybe then, your harsh words will be praise.
I am at her grave, and I repeat in regret;
I promise my thoughts will be disciplined,
i wont remember anything but the food you fed me by hand, and the clothes you put on my body.
And we shall not live as enemies this time.
3
God hears all,
I strung my lyre,
And through sheer importuning,
I asked for you one more time,
it happened as I begged for,
I softened their hearts,
And I fetched you from the underworld,
Charon, take us across,
I promise to not look back until the sun shone full on our faces,
Your thundering footsteps were behind me,
The sound of it agitated my senes,
and the past provided foreboding
I am a maimed child,
And I thought I heard the soft swish of a hunter’s knife,
I turned and after a glimpse, descried the look on your face,
Alas we were doomed once more.
In the end,
My back felt a tightening,
I could not find it in myself to trust you.
I think this maybe the longest poem (?) i have ever written. It’s very personal so i will share it very publicly. Thoughts are always appreciated :)