THE SHAPE OF GRIEF

Grief was a mountain,
Immovable, impossible to cross,
Looming dark, terrifying,
Casting all in shadow.

Grief was the high tide,
Rushing in relentlessly,
Sweeping all in its wake,
My leaden feet stuck in the sand.

Grief is a sluggish river,
The gentle rhythm broken by small ripples,
The shore across a dull green-brown haze,
The shadows dappled with weak sunshine.

Grief is a dark silhouette in my bed
That shrinks away by day,
Occasionally emerges outside the window
Where pink-hued spring blossoms grow.

———

• Kishore Chandiraani
• Consultant Psychiatrist, Emotions Clinic Education and Training Centre, Staffordshire. England
• www.undoyourstress.com