No Time For Mourning

Without shadow 
an agony, slits me open. 
As when I bleed. 
I write a poem. 

It hurts, 
when you touch the words, 
the lines, the paragraph― 
the page. 

From teaching 
to be a learner― 
a long odyssey from― 
innocence to scream. 

My namesake, my akin 
dies daily. I dig a mass grave 
to find my twins, 
where the god lived.