Grievous Glory, where is my Achilles?
I’m the sky mourning the death of the sun,
and no earth could bury him deeper than my heart.
there, he’ll lie with the swans and his lyre,
in memory, he’ll sing with my grief.
And like sand his soul slips through my fists,
but I hold on desperately to every inch of him.
In Prayers, rituals and votives,
I grieve in soulful reverence.
Tears are moonshine that drift like waves across the sea,
no shores outline this endless suffering.
My sorrow greater than the sum of this universe,
The world—too small to hold it.
And I think of him, and only him.
I fade into being his being,
I’m his—I’m him,
he—is my everything.
Golden locks born of love that my hands held in reverie,
cherry lips that felt like homecoming.
His arms held the weight of my secrets,
his eyes—the key to my soul.
Where’s the glory tied to his name?
As they grieve, chant and howl for him.
Their sorrow—a handful of water,
cannot compare to my sea of debilitating grief.
They robbed the boy of his joy and war raised him into a man,
where’s my nectar, where’s my precious sunshine?
The sliver of joy that tugs at the strings of my heart’s lyre,
and remembers the notes to make me smile.
All I see are hands as cold as his face in rage,
all I see are eyes closed, penitent in death.
No smile adorns his precious, beloved face,
Where’s my Achilles?
And who am I, without him?
Poetry by: Yashi Tripathi
Art by: D. Greeshma Gauravee