In this realm of miseries, I assure you, there are none
left for me to claim. I’ve borne witness to much
that was never meant to be seen.
An ulcer nestled within the recesses of my left cheek;
a streetlight that flickers just twice,
every four interminable minutes, while a child
beneath it strives to study;
an elderly man clumsily peeling a banana only
to watch it plummet to the ground;
her precious nose pin; an unsent letter;
my mother’s hidden supplications
that I might converse more;
my father’s muted sighs in response to my temper;
a film about death that bore no semblance to death itself;
her delicate earrings; a crumpled tissue paper discarded
by Domino’s, meandering through the streets
in the company of famished, homeless children;
her melodious anklets; the shattered laughter
of a toothless beggar stationed at the street’s end;
rat blood staining my bedding; the silence
of someone’s conspicuous absence;
loving without the hope of reciprocation;
the dulcet cadence of her voice;
my schoolteacher, dwelling alone,
a photograph of her aged mother her sole companion;
the God who seemingly turns a deaf ear;
the Devil who refuses to desist;
her enchanting smile; the songwriter of a courage anthem
who met a tragic end by their own hand;
a gunshot wound endured by a faithful pet dog;
the dread of enduring yet another heartbreak;
empty stomachs concealed behind affluent facades;
the signatures etched on divorce papers,
while a child gazes upon them, bewildered;
a courtroom where injustice masquerades as justice;
courage, courage, courage — much of it has faded with time —
all I hear is the echo of lifeless bodies and
phantoms cavorting at the foot of my bed.
No trace of woe remains capable of compelling me
into exile. Thus, I declare another lament:
a poem lamenting the woeful paradox
of remaining untroubled by life’s adversities.
