POETRY | MEMORIES | GRIEF
That Early Morning
Prose Poetry
That early morning enters my consciousness time and again. I was feeling uneasy. There was a strange silence surrounding me even with people’s presence. Despite the gentle breeze being a gentle breeze, I feel it is a ball of fire raging toward me.
I am in meditation but not able to concentrate. I try to concentrate and continue to meditate. I try to be happy assuming I will get that call because I’m supposed to get that call.
Then comes the call, and I’m told about the departure. The raging ball of fire vanishes, and I feel a gentle breeze all over me. The strange silence remains, the darkness remains, and the awful loneliness remains.
I shudder and cry in silence while I resume my meditation. I cry and cry, but I don’t depart. I live to tell the tale, but to myself, of that one early morning of silence and a silent rage and then a gentle breeze.
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© A.H. Mehr
With thanks to Chrysa Stergiou and the Team for publishing my work.
