For Nine Years

by nouriguess   Jul 11, 2021


In funerals,
I’m used to wearing
an acquiescent silence.

But it’s not your funeral,
it’s nobody’s funeral,
but it’s your death.
It’s always your death.

Death looks like a mirror, up close.

You tell me,
when do I forget you?

The universe has your thoughts,
the grave your bones,
and I your death.

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