How I Died
A poem
I mourn over the grave I’ve dug for my love to you,
as it withers at each passing time, at every time dust falls on sealed envelopes of my love letters,
at every time my wrapped-up gift finds its home in your untouched corner,
at every time, the colour of my age to fades to the colour of my as you never care to look its way,
I mourn over the daydreams of the unreachable dreamland,
I put a bouquet of black roses over the stone that swears,
that swears that I have tried, and I have lost,
I held the only chance left to love again, yet I have lamentably failed, gradually at sunsets.
Perhaps I better devote myself solely to The Divine Infinity,
for they never bring forth these tears, never ruin such hopes born in the morning dew,
Never again will I stand on the same spot over the grave of another,
Never again will I faithfully fall for anybody, for it only kills, only depletes
what is left of me here,
…
and nothing is left in me.
Muthia Huda 2024
