It’s 4 am
No sun yet
He doesn’t want to wake up
Now sing the birds
They flap outside
chasing one another
trying to wake him up
But nobody cares
Now street trees murmur
and wind blows
into them
shaking their thick stems and wither leaves
trying not to distress his sleep
Breeze comes in from the cracked window.
above his head
He wants to wake up
to see the birds
to listen to the rustling of leaves
to feel the wind
but he can’t anyway
Breeze talks to him
gently talks to him
and it takes him away
“God bless your soul, Grandfather.” I pray, shedding tears.

Mohammed Arafat
January 26th, 2020

I still want to be alone
My grandfather is still dead
But now I'm not cold
I went inside

Now my face is hot
And my tears burn my checks
And my blood is boiling
Why did he have to die?

"I wanna be alone"
I whisper to myself
As my voice echos
In this empty space

My breath makes a cloud
And my body shakes
The tears on my face freeze
My grandfather is dead

On the benches where grandpas watch strollers at
re-musement parks, where the oldays
come alive, conversations take on an old Wednesday
at the barber shop atmosphere,
circa Happy Days, right after ...

There could be sumthin' t'them stories,

the ones the good guys win,
some how
the
good guys win, not in the appliance business,
but
markets saturate, you know, need a gimmick,
need a hook,

eh, the c'mon, try-days, when umph was push,
come to shove and tear and take,

the puppy dog close...

what should only be given, fool.

is nothing sacred? Sweet persuasion
****? From a fifties Tom Hanks recollection of commonalities,
awe, look, Ken Burn's still of all
I think I saw now
that
I remember, I was near there, maybe a hundred miles away.

Each ripple makes the visage fade. The muk that obstructed now whimsically decays. The browns and hues began to drift away. The picture becomes focused and now clarity remains. What I wouldn't give for one more day. To reach down and grab something. To look into my hands and see your affection, yet all I see Is pain. I can't follow you anymore. Now I only feel complete in the rain. Each drop falling down from brown clouds. In sets of twos and heavy with blues. All of your moments are passing away. All of them nome can stay. Just your teachings keep my company. Lessons to make me strong. Leading me to a future that I don't belong. I have to keep holding on, till the very last one is gone. I'll wear them on my heart and keep them strong. Memories and teachings are all I have now. I'll cherish them forever and wake them from the grave.

my grandfather was also
born in may, you know
a stubborn bull
might just be fed up.
from what i’ve seen
they have every right to be

tolerance, then suffering
his lymph nodes grew too fast
"i'll never smile again" i told my father in the car
i don’t remember saying it, only feeling
grief.
we stopped at the reliably empty house
and sat on her porch to purge it all

i was born in may
and my grandfather now resides in our garden
a ceramic bull who takes no ****

Death comes close and breathes a little over my lips and smiles at my terror,
No more the night has songs for the snow, has love for the whiteness,
But lets it go to the last hallucinations under the sun.
Grandfather, lift my soul when this boyhood is done,
And think of things to tell me when darkness grows too cold,
I will be in the corner of eternity, writing poems for no one.

my earliest memory of yeye (grandfather)
is one with the garden
it was once a large space of emptiness, yet
sometimes emptiness is not a lack of but an opportunity
for planting and for growing

in this garden he planted memories
looping a hose around the garden suddenly created new meaning
chasing after turtles my cheeks turned rosy and drenched in the sun the details are so clear
it’s like watching a motion picture in slow motion, the speed of everything melting into a single emotion i can only describe as childish joy.

and when the sun slept the garden was still alight
with firecrackers and sparklers
the sizzling sound of springtime spirit
he kept the garden glowing, bustling and radiating with life.

as i grew the flowers did too,
a new type of rose, fruit, bud each time i came back
and this is where i learn
how life begins and ends
just like flowers we must seek the sun
wilt and
fall
root and rise
and only then
can we bloom
and he bloomed so bright that the Lord hand picked him

and so he may have left his own garden
but he has not wilted
he only continues to bloom
this time in the garden of heaven.

Angry, disturbed.
It hurts me to the core.
Ripped, missing,
Parts of History.
You're pain is valid,
But so is mine.

You were hurt,
But you blew off his side.

brown painted walls,
chipped in random spaces.
the tv turned to something he would never watch.
the sound of his snores occupying the room.
the only other sound is the faint beeping
from the machines in other rooms.
each nurse checking in every few minutes.
not that it mattered.
he wasn't getting better.
we were sitting ducks while he sat in pain.
I hate this place.