Suren’s Poetry Corner ~ A Gulag of my Own Making

 A blog exclusive that I’m not sharing on Facebook. Whoever sees this will just have to stumble upon it. 

I have been awake all night, with an enflamed toe joint that I’m pretty sure is gout. Like shit, I missed the part of yesterday where I kicked a brick wall barefoot. To get around, I’ve been using my grandfather Suren’s cane. The grandfather I am named after, who escaped from a Soviet gulag. In my slight delirium, it inspired this poem, and I jotted it down before I forgot it. Kind of free verse. With some tweaking I could make it into song lyrics. But I’m not sure if I’ll use it for anything.

In a gulag of my own making

But how do I escape?

Young and old at the same time.

A victim of my addiction

Suffocated by my ceaseless pain.

Can my suffering even compare to yours?

Two souls passing in the night.

Viewing each other through a barrier.

You left your book and some pictures

Looking dapper in black and white.

My inheritance was your name,

A legacy I could never live up to if I tried.

I would rather have a grandpa than a legend.

I’m left to imagine what you’re really like.

I’ll never know what you’d think of me now,

Maybe that’s for the best, 

Afraid I’m rather disappointing. 

I use your cane, you’re my strength

Even though I barely met you.

Left me behind for the afterworld

While I’m left on this rock to suffer.

You served your time in the gulag

Now I’m serving mine.