The Bleak House

The toys I used to love,
The loves I have outgrown,
The hungry dogs of hopes,
Which have devoured
One another,
Voids, interspersed with holes,
Mountains of wind and smoke,
Oceans, painted on desert sands
By jinns and ghosts –
My memories;
At my house at the edge of the world,
With cracked windows and doors agape
I’ll look away as I lock away
Everything I have
Ever known;
I will call the bleak house my home,
Sit and sit on the steps outside,
Staring vacantly out at things
Without knowing their names
Or mine,
My memories

Stages of Grief

Was that truly the last that

I’d see of you?

Was your last smile

That smile that I forgot?


Was your last word that one

I can’t remember?

Was your last gift to me

That something that I lost?


Is this a joke, this box

In which they put you?

Is your heart

Teasing me? It doesn’t beat!


This has to be a dream,

With dreamers mourning,

Saying good-bye…

You never said good-bye to me!


Please, wake me up! I do not

Want to dream this!

All that I see here

Looks like empty shells and toys


You must come back – I live

To see you smiling,

You must because

I breathe to hear you voice


You won’t. I’ve seen the last of me

This morning:

Laughed my last laugh,

Said all I’ll ever have to say


I cannot go with you, it’s not

My time yet;

Good I don’t have to

Stay alive – all I can do is stay