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Sympathy Husband Poems | Husband Poems About Sympathy

These Sympathy Husband poems are examples of Husband poems about Sympathy. These are the best examples of Sympathy Husband poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | I do not know? |

Today Is Terrible----

The cracked spine of
the book I dropped
at the call.
A chip in my
windshield left by a
pompous *?#@! in a
red sports car as I
drive to the
service.
Rain expectorating
from an ashen sky as
the dirt is turned.
Today is terrible.
Though this is less
terrible than the
crack in grandma’s
spine from her fall
down the stairs.
The chip in her
amazingly smart mind
after eighteen years
as a teacher.
Tears running,
dripping from my
Mothers ashen face
as she cries “My
mama’s dead.”
Today is terrible.
Though this is less
terrible than the
cracked family
emotions left raw
and empty.
The chip in Grandpas
numb mind at the
gathering… “Where is
Irene she should be
here?”
Faces gone ashen
with dread, do we
leave him numb or
remind him that his
wife is dead?
Today is terrible.
Though this is less
terrible than the
empty silences,
missing the jokes
Grandma used to
crack.
Grandma’s laugh and
her endless smile
which always exposed
that tooth with the
chip in it.
Without her the
world has become
empty, bleak, and
ashen.
Today is terrible.

                   
                   
                   
          Summer
Gratias


Details | I do not know? |

Your Mistake

'Love is patient'
'Love is kind'
The thought of love
Can turn you blind.

But... Now we must
Take some steps
To verify those
Deep regrets.

The first problem you see
Was that. . .
He lied about
You being fat

That in turn 
Led ya to
Beleiving that
He 'accepted' you.

Mirrors were made
For a darn good reason
And thinking you are nothing special
Is high, high treason...

But no!
He's perfect
And no! He's kind
Seriouslly sister
You've lost your mind.

The recipe to love Is that
You have to love your self.
It's not about your facial features
Or the size of ya belt.

The man should be a rock to lean on
And not! A heartless swine.
So please next time. Do pick him wisely
Make sure he has a spine!


Details | Rhyme |

Thank you

Thank you – Zamreen Zarook

Thank you is a sweet word in the nature,
You may be a guy of adventure,
May be you are a person of agriculture,
What matters is your architecture.

Never forget the people, who guided you,
In no degree neglect who were with you,
Don’t ever overlook a creature, who gave a smile to you,
Because, you will meet them above you.

People forget the past due to selfishness,
They have no time to remember their unawareness,
Society, most of the times behave in awfulness,
They will understand when their lives come in to bitterness.

Be a person to thank and remember,
Don’t consider them as December,
Because, you might need them in November,
So, always be as a good subscriber.


Details | Lyric |

This Aint Real

Your face, 
Made a fake smile, (you said)
I love you,
I need you,
I want you just for a while,
You told me,
That I made you smile,
All the things you said to me,
Are just words now,
How can we love,
When you love me for yourself,
(This Aint Love)

Chorus: 2x
What are we doin,
If this love ain't real,
What is this feeling,
That I feel,

I'm broken in emotion,
I'm broken in love, (you said)
I need you,
I want you
You're the only one,
I'm thinkin of, (so tell me)
How can we love, 
When there's always someone else,
(This Aint Love)

Chorus 2x
Bridge:
How can we love,
When there's always someone else,
How can we make up,
When you only love me for yourself,

verse #3:
You got me imprisoned, 
Inside your heart,
When kissed
I felt, Like we,
Would never be apart,
chorus 2x

 


Details | Elegy |

The Lament For an Angel

All in one faded-black day (but let None forget) In my arms, her body lay (my life was the price to pay) A tragedy, through the lack of humanly shame (do they know pain) My darkly colleen has to suffer no more (Robert nor do you) Let me die (please hear my haunted cries) If I can not see Sophie tonight (live on with my grey) I'm just a mess of despairing words And broken nerves Another mourning, afflicted sight (through decay, love can remain) Solace, sympathy are just more lies She is all I need Until you decide she is just another sadist's toy My Angel, why did you have to fly so far away My Angel, just let one feather stay My Angel has flown away My Angel, why did you have to fly so far away My Angel, just let one feather stay My Angel has flown away (My body is amortal, die I may, Together, our hearts will forever stay)


Details | I do not know? |

A Story My Mother Told Me

someone always told me this with tears in her eyes...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)


a wife left South Africa in the 1960’s to join her husband 
who was in exile at the time...

in 1970 the husband was sent by the African National Congress to India to be its representative there...

the husband and wife spent two years in Bombay...

one afternoon the husband fell and broke his leg...

the wife knocked on their neighbour’s door, in an apartment complex in Bombay

the neighbour was an old Punjabi lady...

the wife asked the neighbour for a doctor to see to the injured husband...

a Parsi ‘Bone-Setter’ was promptly summoned...

the husband still recalls his anxiety of seeing ‘Bone-Setter’ written on the Parsi gentleman’s bag...

by the way, the ‘Bone-Setter’ worked his ancient craft and surprisingly for the husband, his broken leg healed quite soon...

but still on that day, while the ‘Bone-Setter’ was seeing to the husband...

the wife and the old Punjabi lady from next door got to talking about this and that and where these new Indian-looking wife and husband were from as their accents were clearly not local...

the wife told the elderly Punjabi lady that the husband worked for the African National Congress of South Africa and had left to serve the ANC from exile...

and that they had left their two children behind in South Africa and that they were now essentially political refugees...

the Punjabi lady broke down and wept uncontrollably...

she told the foreign woman that she too had had to leave her home in Lahore in 1947 and flee to India with only the clothes on her back when the partition of the subcontinent took place and Pakistan was formed and at a time when Hindus from Pakistan fled to India and vice versa...

the Punjabi lady then asked the foreign woman her name...

‘Zubeida’, but you can call me ‘Zubie’...

the Punjabi woman hugged Zubie some more, and the two women, seperated by age and geography, wept, sharing a shared pain...

the Punjabi woman told Zubie that she was her ‘sister’ from that day on, and that she felt that pain of exile and forced migration and what being a refugee felt like...

Zubie and her husband Mosie became the closest of friends with the Hindu Punjabi neighbours who were kicked out of Pakistan by Muslims...

then came the time for Mosie and Zubie to leave for Delhi where the African National Congress office was based...

the elderly Punjabi lady and Mosie and Zubie said their goodbyes...

a year or two later, the elderly Punjabi lady’s daughter Lata married Ravi Sethi and the couple moved to Delhi...

the elderly Punjabi lady called Zubie and told her that her daughter was coming to Delhi to live and that she had told Lata, her daughter that she had a ‘sister’ in Delhi...

Lata and Ravi Sethi then moved to Delhi...

This was in the mid-1970’s...

Lata and Zubie became the closest of friends and that bond stayed true, and stays true till today, though Zubie is no more, and the elderly Punjabi lady is no more...

the son and the husband still have a bond with Lata and Ravi Sethi...

a bond that was forged between Hindu and Muslim and between two continents across the barriers of creed and time...

a bond strong and resilient, forged by the pain and trauma of a shared experience...

and that is why, and I shall never stop believing this, that hope shines still, for with all the talk of this and of that, and of that and of this, there will always be a simple woman, somewhere, anywhere, who would take the ‘other’ in as a sister, a fellow human...

and that is why there will always be hope...
hope in the midst of this and of that and of that and of this...

hope...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)


Details | Blank verse |

I Truly Do Love You

I will love you in every way.
I will always love you in some way.

I will love you everyday.
I will always love you no matter what others say.

I will love you until you feel okay.
I will always love you no matter what you say.

I will love you throughout any day.
I will always love you until my dying day.


Details | Dramatic monologue |

Witnesses To Sinners



I can't hear the words as they come from my mouth
I can't hear the screams as they work their way out
As I write all is seen is a blur and blank moment and
Once recovered sensed the words were written,not 
Even a look to see what was written only to know it
Was there.Sleepless night,taunt  filled faces horde my
Dreams.Have this made me fall so low no longer am I
Am I able to stand on my own to feet.How many times 
Will you make me cry before claiming only to being a 
Witness in a crime,your crime. Putting on that face
Working the crowds with amazing easily,how I hate you
Yes all the thing I think about revolve around you.
How many times have I witness myself wound my self
With your blade? As though under a spell doing as order
Without a cry to the world what made me so diligent ?
But no longer can you be a witness,No longer can I be 
A witness to these crimes that been committed.Be us both
Sinners be us both lovers be that we both be cursed 
We shall witness our sins become whole and the love in
Which we share spread further and further like the flames 
Of hades. May there be peace for sinners in the next world.
We are both witnesses and at the same time 
We are both sinners one day to become consumed by our
Own darkness how far will we fall until that moment comes?
May we be good may we be bad may we fall may we live may 
May we die or carry on we are the Witnesses We are the Sinners
To this world and the next.


Details | Free verse |

God Bless The Garbage Man

Though this is written like a poem it is
more of a thank you letter.

God answers prayers in so many ways
he brings us people to help keep the faith
he gave to me a sweet, sweet man
who helped me truly understand
when i was low and ready to give up
see i was broke 
Without a job, no money, no food, no gas in the car
My husband needed to go and find work
To help his family stay a float
We saw the garbage man outside
We feared he'd come to take our garbage can
So we rushed out side to ask him not too
He said he wasn't there too
He just came to empty our can
'Cause the regular garbage man had passed us up
Now here is were God steps in
My husband and the garbage man talk outside for quit awhile
Tears fill my heart when I think of what comes next
My husband leaves and comes right back
He tells me that the garbage man has put $23 of gas in our van
My heart must of skipped a beat, I could not believe his generosity
Though it does not stop there
Apparently the garbage man has also given us $40 in cash
His only wish is was that it was not spent on cigarettes or booze 
This money was for my family to get food
So often we forget how God lends a helping hand
God does not promise to make us rich, or grant us all we wish
He simply says just ask of me and all you NEED will be given to thee

Today I send out a special prayer, "God, Please bless The Garbage Man that 
gave my family a helping hand. Amen"


Details | Lyric |

The Unhappy Moth

She chose a red scarf. The most red 
of them all.
Of a dark red, a sweet and thick red color,
just as wine.

She carved from the red scarf
from the middle
to the size of a Martini glass.

Then she carved one more glass,
and she kept carving 
till she fell asleep.

Yesterday
she saw her Beloved Moth 
flirting with a Younger Moth, 
carving together from a sweater
while she was getting busy,
carving in the shelves.

The Unhappy Moth drank lots of wine
woolen wine, 
last night.
She drank lots, too much
for a Moth.
The Unhappy Moth got drunk
and fell asleep
on the red scarf,
unhidden
with a heart filled with peace.

She was not afraid no more. 
Now she could be seen easily,
laying on the scarf
and easily crushed.

The Unhappy Moth was not 
afraid of death no more,
at least, now she knew 
how wonderful the red scarfs are
and that they taste
like red wine.


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