A Poem in Which I Mourn a Friend
I know how reflexive you were
to the clarion call of death.
If the dragon still lives,
the one that pronounced your death,
let it film life and take it up to the heavens,
so you’d see how your death
watered every land with grief.
I passed through your grave after years,
and split at all that fell within my sight:
this land you were tucked into.
I cursed death,
the doctor who confirmed your passing,
and the lorry that conveyed your body.
Our mischievous yells reached the crown,
he asked if death has done beyond
taking a soul and we said yes,
he’s parted a mother from her fruit
and a woman from her husband.
A wicked water has put out a bright flame in our family.