The Memory Of Your Face

no one else could hear
the words he said to raise the dead

your name
rung in my ear
for a while

I learnt the sound
of my own voice

there are times
when all a man needs
suspended thinly before him
a familiar hum humming a familiar word

I had to to be certain
of the earth beneath me
should it vanish
if I looked down at my feet

I looked
at your photograph
and wept

because I saw

once, because I needed to see
at all

and then one last time, because I may
never see or
weep again

Poetry by Praveen Bhusal
Read 169 times
Written on 2018-03-22 at 18:41

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Ashe The PoetBay support member heart!
This is so passionate and it says so much about the state of the person. To hear the name, to say it, to look at a photograph, it's so much and sometimes it's enough to quiet the heart. Beautiful!