What Was Here
The soil, it sings with what was here.
The lives that lived, now seeped within.
The air, it hums with weighted wisps
Of things that lived of those who died.
The muffled words in someone's heart
Linger in the fruits that grow.
From trees that sprout and loom over,
Feeding on their corpses of
Whims that never left the mind and
Words that never left their tongue.
What was here stays well put
In what belonged to those who
In the empty kingdom of
What had been of what was once.
What's made is prison
To some old soul
Who's fruit now hangs
From God's henchmen.
A half-read book from when books were new
Left to be read by a veteran
His wounded battles, pressed onto it
Like dried petals on a fresh new print.
A top stuffed bear, loyal companion
To some old gal with Alzheimer's
Lost parts of her, stitched into it,
Like glass bottles that now sail at sea.
All sit in their abandonment
Weighted with who once was theirs.
Living through the there and gone
While adding to what once was here.
For what was here, is here to stay.
Like unsaid words on broken days.
It's presence now a story for
A pondering stranger on their
Syeda Erum Noor is dangerously oblivious and has no sense of time. Send help at [email protected]