the Devil who refuses to desist

K. Latuconsina
2 min readFeb 19, 2024

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.