POETRY | GRIEF | MENTAL HEALTH

The Depths of Memories

Haibun

A.H. Mehr
Catharsis Chronicles
2 min readJun 20, 2024

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Sharp and shiny real black stone beads and all others gather dust often if I don’t touch them on some days. Regardless of a fine strung and no spaces between each, dust still settles. Dust has a dominance in our lives. Seems so. So, maybe, I just need to keep one or two that I use, but each one of them is of my mother’s — black stones/black plastic beads, some in shades of cyan, cerulean, chartreuse, jade and transparent maroon/light brown, glossy multihued ones sparkling all the time, or just pliable pearly white beads with lissome letterings — her touch remains in all. Over time, I change my plans of offering away excesses, and instead, choose to keep them/dust them in a timely manner. This happens all the time/will happen forever: We keep going back in time despite sincere self-assurances of moving on. We blot out our ever-present bold truths. I’m more than an exception!

Sudden rippling rain.
In my hush, nature’s a friend —
Our echoes touch earth!

All Rights Reserved
© A.H. Mehr — 2024

With thanks to Chrysa Stergiou for publishing my poem.

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A.H. Mehr
Catharsis Chronicles

Graphophile - In a small way, but loving this aesthete's journey.