The Weeping Velvet: A Poem by Glory Neeraj

“Blood is thicker than water,” they say,
But as I lay, a tempest in my chest,
My pillow cradles my sorrowed head,
Each tear, a bitter truth, in its salty wake.

Days gone by, her laughter a sunbeam,
Gentle fingers entwined, our hearts as one,
Now, a barren void, a desolate expanse,
Echoes of her love reverberate in hollow chambers.

My once soft velvet pillow, now a weeping canvas,
Soggy tendrils of grief, woven into threads,
As if her absence has seeped into the very fabric,
The weight of longing pressed upon my soul.

Oh, how I recollect those tender years,
Whispered secrets, shared dreams beneath moon’s glow,
Yet, fate’s cruel irony now paints an image grim,
Forlorn, abandoned, in a shelter home’s shadow.

My son, once flesh of my flesh, now estranged,
As though a rift of time swallowed love’s essence,
Leaving me a relic, discarded by my own blood,
A frail oak, battered by life’s tempestuous winds.

The pillow, my soulmate now, a silent witness,
To the unraveling sphere of my despair,
Invisible threads of heartache stitch the seams,
And I, a captive audience to my own tragedy.

Embers of memory glow in the obsidian night,
She lives in every tear that stains my pillow,
Her laughter, a phantom echo in empty halls,
While I, a vessel of sorrow, weep into the abyss.