Grief Market

Grief Market

Reads 11
Votes 0
Parts 1

Ongoing<5 mins

Last published Mon, Mar 30, 2015

angels devils griefs iraq market

Who suggested you to go early in the morning, To walk by yourself with no one to the grief market. It was my decision, and I had to take the port of Memories of the poets whom stepped in before I did. The sailor took us on the river of tears, that was Made by lovers weeping about being separated for ever. My tears were dropping and burning my cheeks, Just because I smelled my beloved Baghdad scents. The policeman wondered why the name of Iraq Was written in red color, I answered him it's my blood. Since no one believed that I am Iraqi and my writing Was based from my diary of grief, of living in Montreal. I finally got to the grief market, where my heart My wounded soul of watching sad and terrifying images. I drain the water, that recalled me of the same Boiling water that my grandpa used to drunk with his wine. The tailor we don't have your size of a suit of joys, Instead, we have a suit of sorrows, that appear you martyr. The chef in restaurant offered me some free meals, I refused to eat and said that I'm fasting until the grief market, Change into the joys market, where I can buy my Grave without the attention of my friends whom would miss me Again ... Again. 1/03/2015

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