THE GRIEF BURNING ON THE CHERRY OF OUR CIGARETTES


Ayesha Amen Oysharya

HEADER PHOTO: 怪談 © Toho, 1964
poetry, nov 24









Since we have fallen there,

Since it’s been forever,
we had set out to crawl our ways out of reality.
The flaming coral red ashes of our unwept blistered heart—fallen over our bruised knees,
has now creased into constellations.
Now when the rings of smoke steadily slow dances out of our pink pale lips and disguises as
the faces of our poignant pasts, we wonder, “Is it humanly possible from awakening to
witness the wafting away of the graceful appearances of our cherished ones, endlessly
effaced?”
We try numbing that pain with the flickers of burning aches of nicotine that muffle our
minds until the kaleidoscope of our memories blurs and fleetingly gets erased.
When the gray strokes dissipate out the windows to the neon navy night—we realize
It’s time we bury the fire of our souls, weeping
and living.
We have decided so.
It’s time, we hide away from the crooked ways of existence and let others see our pitch black
silhouettes shuttering some of the gleams of orange, violets, turquoise and
blues of the street lights, running far far away from the wrecked debts of the core of the
world.












AUTHOR BIO
AUTHOR BIO
AUTHOR BIO
AUTHOR BIO

As a poet and painter in training, Ayesha Amen Osharya’s work is primarily melancholic and spiritual. She often starts her day by writing poetry on her grandpa's typewriter. Other than literature and art, she is also enthusiastic about philosophy and photography. She is currently doing her A-levels (year 12). Her poetry was previously published in Jack Wild Publishing's Avalon Anthology and The Daily Star's "Star Books & Literature". // instagram 

HEADER PHOTO: 怪談 © Toho, 1964
poetry, nov 24





Since we have fallen there,

Since it’s been forever,
we had set out to crawl our ways out of reality.
The flaming coral red ashes of our unwept blistered heart—fallen over our bruised knees,
has now creased into constellations.
Now when the rings of smoke steadily slow dances out of our pink pale lips and disguises as
the faces of our poignant pasts, we wonder, “Is it humanly possible from awakening to
witness the wafting away of the graceful appearances of our cherished ones, endlessly
effaced?”
We try numbing that pain with the flickers of burning aches of nicotine that muffle our
minds until the kaleidoscope of our memories blurs and fleetingly gets erased.
When the gray strokes dissipate out the windows to the neon navy night—we realize
It’s time we bury the fire of our souls, weeping
and living.
We have decided so.
It’s time, we hide away from the crooked ways of existence and let others see our pitch black
silhouettes shuttering some of the gleams of orange, violets, turquoise and
blues of the street lights, running far far away from the wrecked debts of the core of the
world.










AUTHOR BIO
AUTHOR BIO
AUTHOR BIO
AUTHOR BIO



As a poet and painter in training, Ayesha Amen Osharya’s work is primarily melancholic and spiritual. She often starts her day by writing poetry on her grandpa's typewriter. Other than literature and art, she is also enthusiastic about philosophy and photography. She is currently doing her A-levels (year 12). Her poetry was previously published in Jack Wild Publishing's Avalon Anthology and The Daily Star's "Star Books & Literature". // instagram
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