Purpling Syllables of Grief


A.H. Mehr
2 min readSep 29, 2021


Photo by Arūnas Naujokas on Unsplash

I did not know the meaning
of wound or grief for eons.
Nor sadness, pain, uncertainty,
or isolation could touch me.

I thought so!

All I knew and cared was,
about happiness, assuming
there will be indefinite and
exhilarating moments all the while.

I thought so again!

Yet, grief found its way into my life.
Wounds encased me from all sides.
Fresh wounds, with an orange-reddish tinge,
paralyzing me with unbearable pain.
I could only halfheartedly accept it.

And in vain!

Was feeling feeble, discouraged, with
a denial within — forming yellow sheaths.
Seething red with anger, rage
and frustration, I was bottling up
my emotions day and night.

Limbless serpents crawled
and crowded the black hole
of my mind, not letting
any hope or light in,
or letting me heal green
or be a serene blue.

Extreme despair overtook me,
but with realization and acceptance
that this grief was predestined,
my wounds were a light pink-yellow.

I found a way out with
only a wholehearted acceptance
of my profound grief, with
purpling hues of red and blue,
and a healing green tinge
taking over my extreme despair.

I am at peace and healed.

©A.H. Mehr

In response to Creative Corner Edition Nº2 Creative PromptPurpling Syllables of Grief.

Thanks Diana C. for this prompt.



A.H. Mehr

Graphophile - In a small way, but loving this aesthete's journey.