"syri" poems
The enemy of my enemy
Is not, necessarily, a friend to me.
Sectarian based enmity
In Syria abounds.
Cruise missile strikes certainly
Will be followed by the I.E.D.’s
As surely as boots on the ground
Will result in stone topped
Grassy mounds.
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 10:24 PM UTC
Like childhood tales of old,
These home streets unfold in dusk’s soft gold.
But before we close our eyes tonight,
I want to share how I found the light.
Along that path, I was a child so small,
In autumn’s embrace, I’d run to the bridge’s call,
Tossing cones in the water, laughter filled the night,
Gathering lovely leaves ’til the fading light.
I cried when I strayed into shadows stark,
And ran from the dark.
I wandered far from the path I used to know,
But only there I found the road that led me home.
–Tuomo Syri (Instagram @tuomowritings)
Nov 7, 2024
Nov 7, 2024 at 10:55 AM UTC
I see around me these fragrant streets,
That I found while seeking flowers as a child.
Now I watch as they yawn, hollow and still,
As twilight has driven life from its rooms.
And I stand there, a fool in a worn-out show,
Amid false facades clinging to its memories,
Like a body warm enough to cradle close,
Until I lay it back in its casket once more.
And in the evening’s hush, I’m haunted by days
When these streets sang with children at play,
When I wandered deep in apple tree shade,
I, who once wondered at this world.
And it stirs in me a love for life,
For each ordinary day I’m still given,
Finding, in the end, nothing more than this—
To love well what I’ll soon have to release.
–Tuomo Syri (Instagram @tuomowritings)
Nov 5, 2024
Nov 5, 2024 at 2:58 PM UTC