There are none to decline your nectared wine, But alone you must drink life’s gall....
Poems forever
By Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone;
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air;
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.
Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go;
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all,—
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life’s gall.
Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a large and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.
By Majda Ulfat
You healed the scars
You didn't create.
I was your joy,
You were my fate.
You tore the pages,
Changed the tale,
Burnt bridges, built the cages
Where my heart would fail.
Yet thirst didn't drive me
To drink the bane,
But the hand
That offered the pain.
A gift unwrapped
With subtle grace,
The only token
Of a complicated place.
Each time frost changes to bloom,
Like a perfect symphon,y
But I'm trapped in an eternal room,
Serving life of Persephone.
By Amna Ameer
I took my pain
The reason behind
What I thought
Were unanswered questions
Favours taken for granted
And my heart, used and abused
I took my life apart
Piece by piece
And placed it at the altar
I watched myself
Sacrifice each piece like a homage
To the ones who had left before
I tried to relearn sentences
And memorise explanations.
I tried to bring myself to face
The visage of the excuses
Placed before me
Each half done
I tried to undo the knots
That held the veil of lies
In its place
And once each layer was severed
And the kernel of truth
That had once sown underground
Lay exposed under the naked sun,
When the soul looked at me
With blood shot eyes,
When I begged for mercy
And my heart yearned for an answer,
When justice lay in their hands
Yet they clasped their fists tight
Like the iron dome,
When happiness only trickled down
Like leftovers,
And the dripping summer rain
Ushered in the dull ache
That kept me awake
Through the dampened evening,
My wounds had worsened,
Infected by the desire for redemption.
I tried to face the demon
And ask for accountability.
I was left even more isolated
Than at the beginning.
Because what was taken from me,
My years, my time, my innocence, my faith,
Could not be replaced.
When a wound so deep,
After being irrigated and lacerated several times.
Albeit decides to heal,
No tissue is formed from memory.
What replaces it,
Is a mere scar,
Of skin upon skin
Like rings of tree trunks.
It stands as a witness
To the burn and the ache.
It stretches under pressure
But doesn't cave in.
It bruises in darkness
And changes colour in daylight.
And when the onlooker asks
What has it been like lately,
It replies only in broken caresses.
