Meraki

Feelings just rise up,
Hardens and die inside.
I embellish the necropolis
with metaphors,
embalm the dead
with imagery.
Weaves the verses with pain
And knit the casket with
threads of allusion and rhyme
To preserve the cremain for some time.

I am not a poet.
I am not a writer.
I am just a pall bearer
who carries the casket from within.
And a funeral pastor
who interment the dead
into the graves of literature
And empty the heart
to welcome another death.

©anhaga