Same. You never know where it will take you. Sometimes heaven, sometimes hell. I just know that I won’t sleep until it all comes out. As much as I’ve tried to say I’m an academic, I prefer prose, I am a poet.
I’m really glad I took the time to sit with this. Saif, your haiku are unsettling in that way that makes me pause and go back and reread... not comfortable, but honest. And Dorie, your piece felt achingly familiar in places. Reading them together made me think about how much living quietly takes from us over time. Thank you both for sharing something this raw.
Dorie, your poem plunges us into the depths of sorrow and lost beauty with unflinching honesty. Saif’s haiku, on the other hand, distills grief into a single, delicate image...a sparrow carrying sorrow...showing how even the smallest gesture can hold immense weight. Together, your works remind us that human pain can be both vast and intimate, epic and fleeting, yet always profoundly felt. Congratulations to both of you from me.
What a beautifully haunting piece, both of your writing styles shined on their own but agreed to evoke sensations of a shared dancing poetry. Well done both of you💌💗
What struck me here is how differently you both approach the same gravity.
Saif, your haiku feel like small, precise cuts. They’re controlled, sometimes darkly playful, sometimes brutal, and they leave space for the reader to flinch or laugh or pause without being told how to feel. There’s a confidence in that restraint.
Dorie, your piece moves in the opposite direction — expansive, emotional, and cumulative. It traces a life as it narrows, letting beauty, love, and loss bleed into one another until even language feels exhausted. The Ophelia frame isn’t ornamental; it becomes a way of naming surrender without romanticising it.
Read together, the contrast works. Compression beside overflow. Distance beside immersion. Neither resolves the question of death, but both stay honest about what it costs to live with it in view.
Thank you both for trusting the reader with something this heavy.
Mark - thank you so much for taking the time to share your thoughts so thoroughly here. I read it twice. This is the gift of a community of readers. The way we can all instantly comment on the immediate feeling after reading it is ephemeral. But it’s captured and bottled for just a moment in the comment.
I’m glad to hear the poems left space for your own interpretation. That is always the goal. Thanks again.
Thank you Gary very much. It was very interesting to sit in that space for a bit. I think in the end I more romanticized the loss of your spirit as death verses the physical act. Both are tragic. Both feel permanent truly.
I think the desire to understand death is so universal. As you reference, it certainly can be in being forgotten. That may be the greatest fear any of us have. Being so alone no one even remembers we existed. Except us.
Thank you so very much for this incredibly thoughtful comment. I too believe death starts with each experience. My mom used to say you are dying from the moment you are born. I think that applies here as well. Death is not just physical.
In a climate of neglect for the middle of every story, A Death That Matters feels elegantly rounded and impeccably complete — telling the saddest story in our collective unconscious, as more than an elegant montage of quotable lines. These are the true seasons of love: springtime of aspiration; summer of flight and fancy; autumn of debasement; winter of regret.
Don't we all desire to read poetry to the birds, and feed breadcrumbs to the ragged assemby of the salon? When time itself doesn't ruin our finest dreams, they are wasted on a human audience. The wind howls hotter with each line, like an emotional blizzard.
At least Ophelia got to sleep beside a babbling brook, before succumbing to the babble. Every broken heart should be so lucky as to die young and neglected. I. adore. every. elegaic. line.
So much fun working together with you on this Dorie!
You are amazing! I adore you! Thank you for putting up with quirks and craziness. 🩷🙌🏼
That was all Dorie. She has a knack for finding amazing photos.
Thank you Saif 🩷
“I want to be Ophelia.”
that line floats and sinks at the same time... soft wish, sharp ache. beauty asking for rest without asking permission.
It’s a pretty line.
Thank you Saif. 🩷 The first line is the one that pops out randomly, then the rest flows from it.
Ah you do that too. Sometimes the first line scares me.
Same. You never know where it will take you. Sometimes heaven, sometimes hell. I just know that I won’t sleep until it all comes out. As much as I’ve tried to say I’m an academic, I prefer prose, I am a poet.
She is quite a muse. Yes. Sweet and loving until madness takes her.
Great collaboration
Thanks Leo
Thank you Leo 🙌🏼🩷
I’m saving this to read later, but I wanted to let you know I immensely appreciate the use of real photos.
I try my best to use the stock photos, Photos I took myself or anything that is free resource on the Internet
Yes same! The heavy use of AI imagery on this app kills me.
I’m really glad I took the time to sit with this. Saif, your haiku are unsettling in that way that makes me pause and go back and reread... not comfortable, but honest. And Dorie, your piece felt achingly familiar in places. Reading them together made me think about how much living quietly takes from us over time. Thank you both for sharing something this raw.
Thank you Andrea for your willingness to read so openly and without judgement.
Thank you Andrea🩷
Dorie, your poem plunges us into the depths of sorrow and lost beauty with unflinching honesty. Saif’s haiku, on the other hand, distills grief into a single, delicate image...a sparrow carrying sorrow...showing how even the smallest gesture can hold immense weight. Together, your works remind us that human pain can be both vast and intimate, epic and fleeting, yet always profoundly felt. Congratulations to both of you from me.
Thanks Dawn. Even your words and tone are poetic and calm.
Thank you Dawn!
What a beautifully haunting piece, both of your writing styles shined on their own but agreed to evoke sensations of a shared dancing poetry. Well done both of you💌💗
“Shared dancing poetry” I love that
I’m glad you do💌
Thank you ! 🩷
Beautiful collaboration
Thank you Hina! 🩷
Thank you Hina!
This was so great Saif and Dorie!
What struck me here is how differently you both approach the same gravity.
Saif, your haiku feel like small, precise cuts. They’re controlled, sometimes darkly playful, sometimes brutal, and they leave space for the reader to flinch or laugh or pause without being told how to feel. There’s a confidence in that restraint.
Dorie, your piece moves in the opposite direction — expansive, emotional, and cumulative. It traces a life as it narrows, letting beauty, love, and loss bleed into one another until even language feels exhausted. The Ophelia frame isn’t ornamental; it becomes a way of naming surrender without romanticising it.
Read together, the contrast works. Compression beside overflow. Distance beside immersion. Neither resolves the question of death, but both stay honest about what it costs to live with it in view.
Thank you both for trusting the reader with something this heavy.
Mark thank you for your kind and thoughtful comment. I am so happy you enjoyed our collaboration. I see exactly what you are saying. Thank you.
Mark - thank you so much for taking the time to share your thoughts so thoroughly here. I read it twice. This is the gift of a community of readers. The way we can all instantly comment on the immediate feeling after reading it is ephemeral. But it’s captured and bottled for just a moment in the comment.
I’m glad to hear the poems left space for your own interpretation. That is always the goal. Thanks again.
Thank you too Saif for sharing ☺️
Wonderfully done a great collaborative work.
There was darkness there but also a beauty. A fantastic way to look at and explore life and also of course, death.
Thank you Gary very much. It was very interesting to sit in that space for a bit. I think in the end I more romanticized the loss of your spirit as death verses the physical act. Both are tragic. Both feel permanent truly.
Thanks Gary for reading and seeing what we were trying to do!
While reading this, I was reminded of a line from One Piece:
“When do you think people die?
When they are shot through the heart by a bullet? No.
When they are ravaged by an incurable disease? No.
When they drink a soup made from poisonous mushrooms? No.
People die when they are forgotten.”
It feels closely aligned with how this piece approaches life and death through memory and meaning.
I think the desire to understand death is so universal. As you reference, it certainly can be in being forgotten. That may be the greatest fear any of us have. Being so alone no one even remembers we existed. Except us.
Thank you so very much for this incredibly thoughtful comment. I too believe death starts with each experience. My mom used to say you are dying from the moment you are born. I think that applies here as well. Death is not just physical.
This is such a dark, wonderful and honest musing on life, death, and losing the glimmer. Absolutely amazing both of you..
Thanks Elijah, it was a a fun place to explore.
Thank you so much 🩷
This is beautiful
Thank you Sara!
Thank you Sarah!
What a great way to explore life and death. Love the Haikus and Opehelia’s lament.
Thank you !
Thank you very much. We appreciate you reading🩷
In a climate of neglect for the middle of every story, A Death That Matters feels elegantly rounded and impeccably complete — telling the saddest story in our collective unconscious, as more than an elegant montage of quotable lines. These are the true seasons of love: springtime of aspiration; summer of flight and fancy; autumn of debasement; winter of regret.
Don't we all desire to read poetry to the birds, and feed breadcrumbs to the ragged assemby of the salon? When time itself doesn't ruin our finest dreams, they are wasted on a human audience. The wind howls hotter with each line, like an emotional blizzard.
At least Ophelia got to sleep beside a babbling brook, before succumbing to the babble. Every broken heart should be so lucky as to die young and neglected. I. adore. every. elegaic. line.
Death is not the end.
Every time, we look again:
mourners tried and true.