World Poetry Day

Who know sorrow,
who call out to sorrow,
who wish sorrow on each other,
only God knows.
Yours is yours
and mine, mine –
what has been is still
and sorrow is still sorrow.

Afflicted heart,
a thief in the night!

Sorrow is a liar,
convinces us to analyze.
How crafty,
no mercy,
means business!

A detour from purpose,
to break you.
Entangle you gently,
just to squeeze the life out.

When he comes to call –
will you sit him down?
– to cry alone out loud

– Harriet Hala

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