Grief They Cannot Name

Grief They Cannot Name
© Surazeus
2025 01 21

No doors of hope lead them to paradise, 
yet they walk alone on the signless road 
so when they arrive from country of fear 
they have nothing in their hands but mute death 
to give anyone who asks them for their tale, 
except arrogant grief they cannot name. 

They rise again from dust of anywhere 
when their homes are destroyed by unheard words, 
so they carry the dust of empty graves 
and spread it along the road where they walk 
forever nowhere with their loneliness 
because they leave their faces on lost doors. 

No gardens of hopes tilled by ancestral hands 
wait for them to return from nowhere else, 
but hours of sorrow are stuck in their mouths, 
so numb from anguish they cannot feel rage, 
yet they look in through windows of solitude 
to see the blame they refuse to accept. 

They try to measure how much angry air 
billows between them and the infinite sky, 
yet they never speak to anyone else 
who wander around in shadows of fear 
for their power is small as the glass bowl 
that cannot hold the tears they never shed. 

No pungent orange of juicy innocence 
exudes perfume of bodies on the ground 
that rot from hunger of exploding bombs 
because they never escape happiness 
bound inside sadness of wordless despair 
which they erect from broken bones of faith. 

They search for the city of honest peace 
but carry the broken city they lost 
in clutter rattling in bag of their hearts 
for they become the city they escape 
which haunts the bitter words they never speak 
to deny they live in exile from home. 

No beautiful bravery of tender hearts 
can still be found in blank eyes of the dead 
for their trusting faith stains alien ground 
all along their endless road of exile 
where only their shadows search for new home 
though they breathe for the sake of painful breath. 

They shelter in strange curiosity 
wherever they wake from death of the sun 
to hide their rage in new library books 
as graves that record grief they cannot name 
till their tragic lives become mournful songs 
that someone will sing on the dim-lit stage.