Candle

A candle that keeps on burning.

Candle

the beauty, the scent,

the heat, the dance,

the burn, the smoothness,

the burning erosion odour,

i carry you with me,

in the dancing flicker,

your presence, your sound,

yarning with no end,

no words, choking tears, laughter lifts,

shhh, i don’t speak of the secrets,

sorrow that follows,

gazing at you, mesmerised,

slowly over time,

timeless, shameless,

in stillness i live,

love remains present.

distance creates a silent estrangement,

shhh i am growing older now,

i missed the ordinary things first,

i remember the laughs, hugs and care,

strangers,

followed by harsh despair,

i sit in heartache it is just not fair,

disintegrate into rhythmic air,

i drift in the flare.

now that i am a woman, the tears still fall,

the lingering gunshot pops,

invisible thick air, never stops,

heavy breath,

with anguish in our hearts,

fear into our lives,

heat rushing in, until the breath is still,

changing landscapes deepens the sorrow within,

the quiet days we are not to speak off,

certificates arrive in our inbox,

and flowers are ordered and sent,

placed on your final resting bed,

life continues,

a silent sorry within

not shared,

incomplete, no closure,

holding both,

the dread and lift in one.

P.S. If this poem doesn’t make logical sense there is a reason for it. The word ‘candle’ has many meanings for different people it may represent hope, love, spirituality, guidance, birthday celebrations, christenings, new beginnings, remembrance, grief and death. The candle represents all of these for me. I wanted to explore what disenfranchised grief felt like with the lightness of life in all its beauty and the moments of despair. The two co-exist. I re-wrote this poem several times and sat on it for weeks, the moments within this week reminded me to finish it as we celebrated birthdays, family, love and laughs, the invisible moments of disenfranchised grief stay very present softened by life itself.

I haven’t written a poem since my teens, where I would spend evenings listening to soulful rap tunes playing around with song lyrics just for fun, this memory is my ‘point of resistance’, and I needed to explore it, for now, this is what came out.

I also used the guidance ‘as a rooky’ in poetry Chris B. Writes who suggested to use one word with many meanings.

Continue reading…

Same Text. Different Interpretations.