Grief Poems

I even hear the mountains
the way they laugh
up and down their blue sides
and down in the water
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How great my grief, my joys how few,
Since first it was my fate to know thee!
- Have the slow years not brought to view
How great my grief, my joys how few,
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'There is no grief
which time does not lessen
or soften' -
so said Cicero, a man so often right;
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Ah, Grief, I should not treat you
like a homeless dog
who comes to the back door
for a crust, for a meatless bone.
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A grief ago,
She who was who I hold, the fats and the flower,
Or, water-lammed, from the scythe-sided thorn,
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I TELL you, hopeless grief is passionless;
That only men incredulous of despair,
Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air
Beat upward to God's throne in loud access
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1540

As imperceptibly as Grief
The Summer lapsed away—
...

In the end, I made myself
Known to your wife as
A god would, in her own house, in
Ithaca, a voice
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When the kites fly in the sky
Like lovely tall ladies
A dark cloud extends
To the north-west horizon
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Grief thief of time crawls off,
The moon-drawn grave, with the seafaring years,
The knave of pain steals off
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Today…some thoughts on grief because I am of the belief
just as life can give us joy…we can't escape its grief.

When we lose someone we love…life will never be the same it was before.
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TUNE: Chou Nu Er "Ugly Boy-Servant"/
Cai Sang Zi "Picking Mulberries"
TITLE: "Written on a Wall on the Way to Boshan"
- by Xin Qiji (1140-1207)
...

Her grief fell from the balcony and broke into pieces, so she needed a new grief. When I went with her to the market the prices were unreal, so I advised her to buy a used grief. We found one in excellent condition although it was a bit big. As the vendor told us, it belonged to a young poet who had killed himself the previous summer. She liked this grief so we decided to take it. We argued with the vendor over the price and he said he'd give us an angst dating from the sixties as a free gift if we bought the grief. We agreed, and I was happy with this unexpected angst. She sensed this and said ‘It's yours'. I took it and put it in my bag and we went off. In the evening I remembered it and took it out of the bag and examined it closely. It was high quality and in excellent condition despite half a century of use. The vendor must have been unaware of its value otherwise he wouldn't have given it to us in exchange for buying a young poet's low quality grief. The thing that pleased me most about it was that it was existentialist angst, meticulously crafted and containing details of extraordinary subtlety and beauty. It must have belonged to an intellectual with encyclopedic knowledge or a former prisoner. I began to use it and insomnia became my constant companion. I became an enthusiastic supporter of peace negotiations and stopped visiting relatives. There were increasing numbers of memoirs in my bookshelves and I no longer voiced my opinion, except on rare occasions. Human beings became more precious to me than nations and I began to feel a general ennui, but what I noticed most was that I had become a poet.
...

Baance se bhaD kar
koi bhi hari cheez
aagay nahin upjati
...

Better You Forget Me (In three Parts)by Ehsan Elahi Ehsan
Better You Forget Me Part-1
by
Ehsan Elahi Ehsan
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Grief not, grief not, dear friend,
For the death of the father.
Death has no power to touch the Father, remember.
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Annoyed with grief, yet not letting go of her dead body.

I still remember that rainy evening in the emergency room, seeing her
supine, anxiously watching doctors and nurses, then caught sight of me
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Inspired by a poem by Pamela Sinicrope

I
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Human needs to share other's grief,
Grief in human life is natural,
But need to divert towards the peace,
Where diverting towards the peace needs practice.
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The Hue of Grief
Red, sharp, searing
my being
it's hot, bitter, salty taste,
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