In Grief (The voice of the weak)

First my brother, then this uncle, 
I am hated, it seems
It is time that I stopped 
Holding back my thoughts

And the weak one snapped as a bow held taut

The stinging insults he had borne, he ill-forgot

And he wondered aloud
As his brother wept

Was it power? 

That fought and raised its voice at those it knew to be weaker

That grabbed salaciously with force

That sought to contain outpourings of grief
With little more than raised hand

How can power crumble to nothing 
In the face of loss

Does that signify power
or the absence of it

Late that night, when the house was deathly calm

He saw her, she stood there, as though waiting
Was she checking how he felt? 
Why did she fill his mind so?

Is that you? he asked, I don't fear you

Did you come here to accompany his soul?

Was it you, whose presence I felt
Near his body, I thought it was

Your love for him remains unabated

You cared only for him

What of me, why didn't I matter
I was the weak, you were the fighter
But even you gave in
When forced from all sides

If you had only stayed by me
I would have fought for what was mine
Instead of staying and clearing my confusion
You left me helpless, abandoned

His eyes stung:

You died, I did not miss you

I was relieved of the embarrassment

You wrought on me so openly
Offering yourself shamelessly

Replacement was easy and quick

I have daughters now
And a smiling wife
I kept her away from my family
And from my brother's wife