class:
instructor: Tom Molanphy
student: Inseeyah Barma
Softly She Cries
The voices float endlessly
Over the high mountains
On the erratic winds.
Still, she sees
Shackles, garlands,
Coming upon her in her sleep.
Her cheek lain to the ground
To absorb all it?s pain,
Her son buried
Beneath the memorial stone.
Weakened bones, piled
One
On
Top
Of
The
Other.
Stay busy, busy, mama
In brazen jest of the jaded whispers
Shouting in your head.
Close your mind against the air,
Yes, shake your head
To fight fragmented visions.
Summer gold, now an eternal winter,
Charcoal in its madness.
Aching feet, stumbling onwards,
Over the beaten, dry, crumbling blooms.
Reprieve from sorrow is promised, but
Never guaranteed.
With darkness, images of her son
Disclose the terror of digested time.
The sun is blinding but
At night we long for its comfort.