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Endless heartache
Endless thinking
How I fear the words you speak
Let the ground beneath me take me, open up beneath my feet

No...No more torment
I will fight you
I won’t let you brake my soul
With every essence of my being I’ll take back all that you stole


If I have to claw my way out
I will grasp each piece of dirt
Bring my broken body back out and breath the beauty of this earth


And as I walk along this new path
I will look with clarity
Keeping all that once was cherished as a guide to set me free
Me fighting back against my grief and not wanting the loss and pain to define me and bring me down. At one point after being Widowed I just wanted to give up
Solitude, unwanted yet here you stand before me. Like a heavy cloud you engulf me. Leaving me unable to see beyond my grief, beyond this very moment of loneliness.


I am sinking like a ship without its crew. Beaten down by those heavy waves of grief. Left choking on the sandy bed beneath.


I am lost,

Abandoned,

Left behind.


My remnants of a life once loved washed up by the tide
One of many poems written after being Widowed young
To absent is my heart that beats

And bitter tears inside me weep



Amongst the crowds I am alone

I live each day yet have no home



My soul drops like a weeping willow

The life long journey of a widow
Atul May 2014
La belle femme Indienne aime un soldat,
Le soldat est mort dans une guerre féroce guerre,
La femme Indienne a été laissé seul et veuves,
Elle porte maintenant un chiffon blanc.


A White Cloth

The beautiful Indian woman loves a soldier,
The soldier is dead in a fierce gun battle,
The Indian woman is now lonely and widowed,
So she wears a white cloth nowadays.
A French-English poem for Indian soldiers and their loving wives.
Widows of Indian martyrs wear white or dull coloured clothes traditionally.

My HP Poem #632
©Atul Kaushal

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