Published in Overland Issue 233 Summer 2018 · Uncategorized Blessed be this sadness Omar Sakr after Les Murray I carry within the unmimicable dark. Weeping open on the train one day I learn no-one speaks to the sorrowful except to say I’m sorry or I’ve been there or to caw like some useless bird. No-one has been to this place, my sweet black sea. You may have your own, a waterless rock or else some other reflection of world, a bedroom, a garden of knowledge, a mouth. No-one has been to my deep black sea or knows the names of the unique fish, crustaceans and algae that flourish there. I visit its beach of glass every morning afraid it will vanish without my care, my soft light. When I’m there, I hold the necklace of wounds my mother gifted me, tiny tragedies, accidental histories, each one a jewel, amethyst of fist, topaz abortion, and oh the blood diamonds of neglect. Every wound here is a window back to life, little lungs pumping air into this beautiful void. And it is beauty. A dozen moons of pale pink and blue hang in the sky, each one a halo on haunted water. The truth is: I love this grief-wrought hole. All that I have lost lives in it. Together as never in life, we swim, we school, we sink in moon and diamante sand. Bone dry, I leave wet footprints wherever I go. Back in the carriage, the necklace is heavy as a solar system and absolutely ordinary. Image: Vincent Chien / flickr Read the rest of Overland 233 If you enjoyed this poem, buy the issue Or subscribe and receive four outstanding issues for a year Omar Sakr Omar Sakr is the author of two acclaimed poetry collections, These Wild Houses (Cordite, 2017) and The Lost Arabs (UQP, 2019) which won the 2020 Prime Minister’s Literary Award for Poetry. His debut novel, Son of Sin (2022) is out now. More by Omar Sakr › Overland is a not-for-profit magazine with a proud history of supporting writers, and publishing ideas and voices often excluded from other places. If you like this piece, or support Overland’s work in general, please subscribe or donate. Related articles & Essays 19 April 2024 · Friday Fiction Stilted J.E “Mahal” Cuya One hour after midnight. Everyone in rooms. Living room – dark. Table look like monsters. Like death. TV on stand. Netflix Logo. No one watching. Residents asleep. They have dementia. 18 April 202418 April 2024 · Education A Jellyfish government in NSW: public education’s privatisation-by-neglect Dan Hogan A private school that receives public money is not a private school: it is a fee-paying public school. The overfunding of private schools using public money is a symptom of a public service that has been rotted for a quarter of century by a political class with no vision beyond producing dubious, misleading statistics to deploy at the next election.