Silent Language Of Grief
tears are the silent language of grief
Taht mostly provide us comfort and grief
When once they quietly all fall down
On grass that's green or on mud taht is brown
Because they are very precious and rare
that no one whenever wants can spare
Becaus eit only comes with the pain
that we get like an unpredictable rain
So then after facing agony and distress
And all life's lies, fib and mistrust
What is left for us to feel
That afterwards every one has to deal
Is the silent language of our grief
that gives us way to find a relief
Through the path of life's precious tear
That not only sounds but is very rare.
poem by Seema Chowdhury
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Hope in Heaven's Day
Grief be mine, I ask you so,
If not for you, I wouldn't know,
How life once was and then be still,
How so precious, that death do steal.
Because that grief, won't go away,
Learn to let it have its way.
The link to love, a precious one,
Is met with grief and still not done.
The days do come, and nights do go,
Grief will stay as time is so.
And so a loved one passes on,
And grief comes in and carries on.
Does grief get better, I will ask,
It's hard to say, while at its task.
There is grief to help us cope,
There is God to give us hope.
Grief will surely go away,
On that glorious heaven's day.
But while its here, there's just one thing,
Pray our Lord, for peace he'll bring.
poem by Arlene Dery
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The Depth Of Grief
The depth of grief is hard to measure
For the pain inside it that is treasures
Is so much and so bitter and hard
That everone wants it to totally discard
But one thing taht we must keep in mind
Is to always seek ways with others to be kind
No matter what we are going through
We must be honest and sincere too
And always remember these pain and grief
Are only let out and gets a relief
If they are given a chance to drop
From inside painful injured heart's top
And then all life's pain and sigh
Will leave your soul and will say goodbye
And then in your heart all pain and grief
Will not get a place, not even brief.
poem by Seema Chowdhury
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In my grief
In my grief
I have forgotten I have a friend
I have not remember there is YOU
Who are willing to wipe away my tears.
In my grief
I have hurt you my friend
I run hiding in my own cocoon
And left you alone wandering where I am
In my grief
I ignore you calling my name
I have close my eyes for your need of a friend
And left you alone in your lament
After my grief
I look for where you are
But couldn’t find you anymore
Coz you grew tired waiting for me
poem by Tear Drops
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Grief is the soul of life- SONNET
Grief in the world is soul of life,
When it comes, comes like a kite.
Flying over on ones, hanging like a knife,
Everyone have to suffer from it to fight.
Life is a journey for facing griefs,
One's only thinks over happiness, but it is his dreams.
Grief is tsunami of life, robs joy from us like thief,
Grief is after all life's cream.
The whole universe is built,
Through love they say.
No one care about silt,
About grief, sorrow and dismay.
Grief is the indivisible part of our life,
It can not be seperated by axe, needle or knife.
poem by Shubham Tomar
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Tutorial in grief
A lesson in grief
I struggle to find
Inside my mind
Thoughts that will offer
Some crumb of comfort
Black calligraphy,
Brave, brush strokes
Across the blinding stab of pain
That comes with loss
Ah, but then there is darkness.
Impenetrable, like none you imagined
And you will put every effort
Into figuring the exit route.
Wasted effort.
Sit my friend.
Rest, and in its own time,
It comes.
Grief has its own timescales, agenda
You will wish without ending
For a last day, an hour, a minute.
Yet if you search inside yourself
You will know,
Exactly, to the word,
Everything you would both have said.
It is not for you to deal with grief.
For grief will deal with you
God Speaks To My Heart
Open door, breeze on my face,
I smell the rain, think of my friend,
He has passed, to another place,
His long struggle's reached it's end,
I feel this emptyness in me,
The grief is new, this final part,
yet there is comfort in this grief,
God must be speaking to my heart,
There is a fragile thread of hope,
that one day we will meet again,
the gentle thoughts that help me cope,
with crushing grief, the loss of friend,
and yet, think I, I keep the gift,
of every precious memory,
of all the time I got to spend,
that grew the love I'll keep with me
poem by Elizabeth Lindberg
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Rare, Precious & Gone
Cry baby boy, not tears of joy
The one you held is no longer your toy
Shes got her new boots and her make up on
You can call her your friend
But not your lover again
Shes made it clear as air that this affair is at an end
So what are you doing holding on?
Dont you see shes
Rare, precious and shes gone
Shes rare, precious and shes gone
She was soft in your hands, now shes shattered your plans
Im sympathetic but youve got to understand
You tried to squeeze her somewhere
She just dont belong
She was being sincere when she breathed in your ear
As long as there were stars in the night sky shed be near
Even angels get it wrong!
Wont you see shes
Rare, precious and shes gone
Shes rare, precious and shes gone
Its a subtle trap
Seeding guilt in her mind
But she aint taking your crap
This time
Boy youre out on a line...
Shes a queen among women, a child among queens
The finest thing that your lovesick eyes have ever seen
Shes a rose without a thorn
Shes a peach, shes a prize
A gift in disguise
Shes graceful and colourful and when she grows
Shell be wise
But most of all my friend, shes gone
Gone, gone gone!
Shes rare, precious and shes gone
Rare, precious and shes gone
Yes, shes rare, precious and shes gone
Shes rare, precious and shes gone
Gone, gone gone...
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Do Not Run Away From Gried.....
i do not run away from grief
grief itself is the cure of grief,
did you not know that from the thorns grows
this rose?
from boulders, that nugget of gold?
that from dead trees
the rare orchid blooms?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sport Relief
Do something for a child,
Even if you don't feel so wild.
The money that comes,
Can be very big sums.
It goes all to charity,
to help us have parity.
It is all sport relief,
To make lesser grief.
Sport may seem like grief,
But this helps to bring relief.
To those who have grief,
Who should not be a thief.
To earn their living,
So help them get a better living.
They'd do anything for a living,
So please give them a shilling.
poem by Kaleb Brown
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Think of lovely music
I think of lovely music
May be same divine magic
Deep love and pain mixed with joy
In silent corner to watch and enjoy
May be love has only one language
To take care of feelings and assuage
Little fingers moving in curly hair
Whole world at feet to find it here
Whole of my time is spent in search
You can’t find it in dark even with torch
Heart must be delighted with burning pain
There is place somewhere to cry and n wait for rain
As air thickens with lovely melody
It becomes concern of no body
It silences the sadness in corner
The fire is extinguished from the burner
It is possible words may not be understood
It is equally true not to have supplemented for food
But it has given some relief to know it better
Music can keep you love alive and nicely cater
Pain may vary with high and low tones
The doors slowly open and path is shown
Love may be meant to be embrace
Stand up in faith and make it truly to face
What it does with ailing mind?
It is dead already for nothing to find
Search has ended in failure
Life is uncertain and not sure
Not even wealth or drink may satisfy
They will add to woe and surely multiply
Nothing may come out of it even if you cry
You may feel dejected and nothing may be left to shy
There won’t be anything for coming to aid
So many good words are known to have said
Nothing is helping to come out of great shock
The eyes are paining as they run out of stock
Only few options are open to relax and enjoy
The nature is full of means to provide the joy
It is how we can pick the thread and tie
There is enough with bird’s wing to fly
Some language must be tried to convey
It can provide some relief much to our dismay
There is hidden strength in songs and music
It has something to do with anything that is tragic
Evenings may turn dry and noon so hostile
You can go for fresh air in morning meanwhile
Still nothing as such can compare the lovely melody
You may love to donate everything even if you are miser or greedy
There is divine blessings coupled with harmony
This might have not been experienced by many
Yet that has ruled several ailing mind with much relief
Music to ears is rare blessing and it is firm belief too
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Something That I Can't Do
how i wish i can imitate
the flow of water in my life
that choice of taking the path
of least resistance
how i wish i can have the language
of the rain
that which assuages pain
that which satisfies the thirst
of grass
that which jives with the slow pacing
of the stones
i can't.
i am already born with the language of
my parents
it is the language that i know
the only language of my body and soul
i have to like it
there is no other sound
no other choice
except to speak it
again and
again.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Grief-Song
New grief, new tears;-
Brief the reign of sorrow;
Clouds that gather with the night
Scatter on the morrow.
Old grief, old tears;-
Come and gone together;
Not a fleck upon the sky
Telling whence or whither.
Old grief, new tears;-
Deep to deep is calling:
Life is but a passing cloud
Whence the rain is falling.
poem by John Bannister Tabb
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Beyond the grief.
It seems as if we are stalled by our grief,
unable to move away from it – and I wonder
if we will ever get over the loss of you. In time
they say we will, that one day we will finally be free
of the sadness that burdens our hearts, and we will dance
in our remembrance, and there will be no more tears.
But if that's true, I must admit I will miss the tears
when there is an eventual easing of the grief.
I am not as eager to begin the dance
of life without you, for the world has lost its wonder
for me, some of its shine - and being free
seems awfully relative - I suppose just like time.
I can still so clearly recall the last time
we were all together - the tears
we shared, even laughter, when you were set free
of this earthly pain - and even in our grief,
we were filled with such wonder
as we witnessed the end of life's dance.
When I was a little boy you used to let me dance
on the top of your shoes, moving in time
to the music on the radio. Is it any wonder
that music, to this day, brings tears
of joy, mingled with the ever-present grief,
which still has not set me completely free.
I now realize there is a cost to love; it's not free -
for when you love, you buy a ticket to the dance
of life - which comes with joy and pain, celebration and grief.
And if you have lived a long enough time,
as I have, even when the loss brings never ending tears,
with a broken heart, it's worth all of the pain, and it's no wonder
people love so fiercely - so much so that they cease to wonder
about the why, when or where - and now I realize that I am free
to love, and to lose, which will bring with it many tears.
But each tear is worth it - and seems to make the dance
more authentic. In the end, I will measure my time
by how much of it was filled with love, and with grief.
No longer will I wonder whether or not I should dance,
I will just be free, stepping in and out of time,
wearing my tears like a badge of honor as I move beyond the grief.
poem by Mahfooz Ali
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Untamed Grief
What comes out of grief dissected, I ask
When it’s mutualised for its pain to mask
Does it settle down like blown dust?
Or disappear like sun rays at dusk
What transcends from grief suppressed?
Does it fly away like a raven?
Or it stealthily searches for another haven
In the subconscious of the beholder
What proceeds from grief deferred?
Does it abscond like the morning dew?
Or it keeps on gnawing like a tumour
And denying a soul of all humour
What incarnates from grief embellished?
Does it pierce like a sword?
Or it exterminates softly without a word
Grief is the reality of life
But shouldn’t eternally blanket a soul with strife
And though every life is garlanded with petals of grief
The stint of its tears ought to be brief
So the taste of living can always be rife!
poem by Valerian Mwenda
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Compassionate Thoughts
Compassionate thoughts and feelings of emptiness
Are almost always expressed in sadness, grief, or distress.
But in conflict of life and death there is a pause
For life is a common interest, for death there is no cause.
In a split second in time life and death must cross
And the feelings of sadness, grief, and distress are lost.
An important relation is death for life and life for death
Since both cannot occupy the same space, one is left.
Then brings sadness, grief, and distress for the life that had to end
And compassionate thoughts and feelings of emptiness happen for the next life to begin.
poem by Jason Summers
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Dark Trinity
Said I to Pain: "You would not dare
Do ill to me."
Said Pain: "Poor fool! Why should I care
Whom you may be?
To clown and king alike I bring
My meed of bane;
Why should you shirk my chastening?"
Said Pain.
Said I to Grief: "No tears have I,
Go on your way."
Said Grief: "Why should I pass you by,
While others pay?
All men must know the way of woe,
From saint to thief,
And tears were meant to overflow,"
Said Grief.
Said I to Death: "From ail and fret
Grant me relief."
Said Death: "I know you are beset
By Pain and Grief.
But my good will you must await
Since human breath
To suffering is consecrate,"
Said Death.
Said I to God: "Pale Sister Grief,
Bleak Brother Pain,
Bedevil me beyond belief,
And Death's unfain . . ."
Said God: "Curse not that blessed Three,
Poor human clod!
Have faith! Believe the One with Me,"
Said God.
poem by Robert William Service
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A grief ago
'There is no grief
which time does not lessen
or soften' -
so said Cicero, a man so often right;
a Stoic, those for whom
all life presents a lesson
to be learned from,
and then, to move on from..
But I wonder about all this:
is grief ever lessened or softened?
Is it not, perhaps, overlaid
in our so various ways?
For some, grief framed and falsified
to ease that grief;
For some, like hyacinths and crocus bulbs,
left in a dark cupboard in the autumn of our grief
to respond to time, and
become at last
themselves?
gently, gently, the covers pulled
over the loving bed,
the true, the pure, the lovely painful grief,
the memory deep cherished,
gently, gently, folded
into the cupboards of the heart
there to be known, without the door disturbed
until the time - 'a grief ago' as Dylan wrote -
the cupboard opened only for love's sake
without grief...:
those carefully folded memories
brought out and loved
and lived a while...
not grief, not grief...but
the pure memory of grief
and behold,
life.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Fruit Of The Spirit
Though broken 'neath the weight of grief,
The heart beats on in sorrow.
It seeks to meet some soon relief
But finds none in the morrow.
The heart is crushed; it's bruised to tears
And cannot sense the reason
For life that would but disappear
Before it's own due season.
The child who grew next to my heart,
Transfused such love and laughter;
But soon his young life would depart
Ascending the Hereafter.
Oh, Heart, produce your fruit of grief-
Much sweeter than the vine.
For though you're trampled 'neath the Thief,
You're left to pen these lines.
You must beat on against the foe
For Death must be defeated.
Allow your tears of grief to flow
Until with Christ we're seated.
poem by Jean Mallette
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Not With These Eyes
Let me not see your grief!
O, let not any see
That grief,
Nor how your heart still rocks
Like a temple with long earthquake shocks.
Let me not see
Your grief.
These eyes have seen such wrong,
Yet remained cold:
Ills grown strong,
Corruption's many-headed worm
Destroying feet that moved so firm--
Shall these eyes see
Your grief?
And that black worm has crawled
Into the brain
Where thought had walked
Nobly, and love and honour moved as one,
And brave things bravely were begun....
Now, can thought see
Unabashed your grief?
Into that brain your grief
Has run like cleansing fire:
Your grief
Through these unfaithful eyes has leapt
And touched honour where it lightly slept.
Now when I see
In memory your grief
There is no thought that's not
Yours, yours,
No love that sleeps,
No spiritual door that opens not
In the green quiet village of thought
Shining with light,
And silent to your silence.
poem by John Freeman
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