Woman in Mourning


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Just like a wife in mourning
Of a husband whose body
Has not been found yet,
She knows exactly that
Whatever she mourns now
She will morn again.
Her sadness cannot be contained,
Or postponed.
It hasn’t finalized itself
Just like dust in molding
Disintegrating to grains falling
Pounding merciless rain…
She seeks refuge behind time
But time is as naked as her
From truth, from light
She sweeps whatever sadness she has accumulated
Like dust lying on her skin
Mixed with her sweat,
With her being, with her breath
She buries those specks in the corners
In the dark,
Under her eyes.
But there is so many of them,
She distributes some to the wind
Some to wither under fire,
Some to swim down the drain of her past
In defiance, her memories stand firm and tall
She bends them, breaks them into words

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