Dead Poems

A poem died
Somewhere between yesterday and last week
“You do not mourn for dead things”, Granpa said
“Don’t threaten to follow the corpse to its grave…
For if allowed, you true intent will be disgraced”
So, I let all of it lie
Entrails trailing over the rails of evening walks
A line lost in transmission-
Waves stuck in the intelsat
On walls of visiting office blocks
A verse written over woe- worn faces
Dropped in hurry, over pedestrian crossings.


A poem lay dead
After last week and before this morning
A line here, a line there
Between dead phones and twitched ms-words
Another syllable abandoned
On hard planks at bus stations
Notches carved on tail boards of north-bound lorries
A note scrunched into trash bins by street corners
Rhymes and lyrics forgotten
Behind magnetic vinyls of retro- music
Sublime tones of voice and diction
Lost in the thumps of soliloquy.


If a poem dies,
Do not weep or mourn for dead things
Or betray pious intents over tears
Over dead poems- lost in transmission
But for poems in still-birth
That never saw the light of day
At street corners, bus stations; in retro- music
The pain- I shall never overcome-
Of a poem that died, stuck
Unsung, in my head.


┬ęPoet Razon-Anny Justin,
Paths of Ecdysis,

4 thoughts on “Dead Poems” by Razon-Anny Justin (@PoetRazon)

  1. Beautiful, really reflects the writers ‘ experiences. Nice interplay of words too.

    1. @obscure Thanks for finding time to read through. The poet’s -and every other writer – dilemma of lost letters is an issue of its own. It defies redemption.

  2. Well, that’s a good read.
    Poems die everyday, but then we the poets do not have to die with them…we can always create and recreate once we are alive.
    Keep it up @poetrazon

    1. @chime221. Thanks for sharing this feeling. Many a-requiem for dead poems, have my lips sang.

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