My Grandpa
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On the day my Grandpa died
My mother gripped the phone so tight Tears were flowing from her eyes The first time I had seen her cry On the day my Grandpa died A hurricane wrecked my insides He’d always said that he’d been fine Limping to place the trash outside On the day my Grandpa died Hope had shattered as I realized All the screams and heated fights He’d tried to keep the peace and quiet On the day my Grandpa died I remembered every time All the stories about his life All the horrors he’d survived... His father and the Genocide His feet that had turned to the side Consistently being despised By his mother all the time Conscription and the brutal fights Three days that he had spent blind Asbestos that wasn’t purified Countless fear and sleepless nights And all the pain he kept inside All the times he’d sacrificed Limping to place the trash outside Never once did he not smile Except the day my Grandpa died When he fell from a stroke inside And earned his wings to be beatified The saint I’ll miss till the end of time. |
PAULINE AKSAY
is a storyteller based in Toronto,Canada. She has experience in writing poetry, digital animation, and in illustrating children’s books, and has previously received two artist’s grants to write, illustrate and self-publish two children’s stories. Aksay’s work explores mental health, perception, imagination, and the limits of memory, offering an evocative glimpse into the human experience from the eyes of an outsider.She aspires to promote the emotional intelligence, compassion, and understanding in the people who experience her work. |