Sisyphus - mervewrites.com
426
wp-singular,post-template-default,single,single-post,postid-426,single-format-standard,wp-theme-bridge,bridge-core-3.3.3,qi-blocks-1.4,qodef-gutenberg--no-touch,qode-optimizer-1.0.4,qode-page-transition-enabled,ajax_fade,page_not_loaded,,vertical_menu_enabled,qode-title-hidden,qode_grid_1300,side_area_uncovered_from_content,qode-content-sidebar-responsive,qode-smooth-scroll-enabled,qode-theme-ver-30.8.6,qode-theme-bridge,disabled_footer_top,disabled_footer_bottom,qode_header_in_grid,wpb-js-composer js-comp-ver-8.5,vc_responsive

03 Tem Sisyphus

Posted at 09:19h in Uncategorized by
Adriel Kloppenburg via Unsplash

A poem by Merve Writes

Not every birth is happy.
Not every death is painful.
You gave me nothing.
Not a word,
not a rope,
not a god.
You left me with air and silence,
and that is how I learnt
to make fire.

Even stones remember pressure.
Each morning, I carried the stone
like Sisyphus — 
bearing a weight no one noticed.

I ask myself:
Would you become her again?
Or is it that I remember myself?

I admire her struggle.
But I deleted her life.
Like in The Matrix,
I chose another world.

So I shall say it,
without irony:
Thank you
for giving me nothing.
Not giving
was the exact gift.

Print page