Writing about the September 11 attacks, even now, years later, is a process that demands deep reflection and emotional honesty. It is impossible to separate that day from the visceral experiences so many of us had—whether we were watching the events unfold in real time, hearing the news through loved ones, or feeling the collective grief settle across the world. Time has a way of muting certain aspects of trauma, but it never fully erases the emotional landscape carved by such moments. In these poems, I wanted to explore not just the immediate reactions to the attack, but the slow evolution of grief and resilience that followed, both individually and as a society.
When something as catastrophic as the fall of the Twin Towers happens, we often focus first on the shock, the devastation, and the immediate response—the smoke, the dust, the confusion. But it is in the days, months, and years that follow where we begin to understand how profoundly such an event has altered us. THIS I write about.
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These powerful poems reflect on the aftermath of 9/11, exploring the shock, grief, and resilience that followed. From the raw emotions of witnessing the attacks to the quiet strength a year later, they delve into how we’ve changed, learned to carry loss, and continue to rebuild with hope.
Sample
DEDICATIONS
To Those Who Lost Their Lives
In morning’s light, the towers fell so fast,
Their shadows long, now etched in time’s own grace.
Each name a star, a memory to last,
In hearts where echoes find their sacred place.
For every life that passed, we hold you dear,
Your light remains, though you are no longer near.
To Those Frontline Workers And Others Who Risked Their Lives
Brave souls who stood where danger roared its might,
You ventured forth where others feared to tread.
In smoky haze and chaos of the sight,
Your courage shone as you to darkness wed.
With every step, your hero’s heart displayed,
A beacon bright through shadows’ grim parade.
To Those Who Survived and Have Been Permanently Affected
From rubble’s edge, you rise to greet each day,
Though scars remain, your spirit bears the strain.
In lives transformed, your strength lights up the way,
A testament to overcoming pain.
For every trial, your resilience blooms,
In shadows cast, your hopeful spirit looms.
To the Relatives of Those Affected and Their Traumas
In grief’s embrace, you’ve carried heavy hearts,
Through endless nights and days of aching thought.
The pain of loss, where memory never parts,
In silent tears and solace dearly sought.
To those who mourn and bear the endless weight,
Your love endures, though time may hesitate.
To Future Generations – May They Learn Lessons
May wisdom from the past guide paths ahead,
And lessons learned from sorrow’s deep embrace.
In every tale of loss, let hope be spread,
To shape a world where peace and love find place.
For future hearts, may understanding grow,
From shadows past, let brighter futures glow.
***
The Twin Towers of Love
Words on a page are irreversible, invincible,
they bury our senses then magnify our sorrows-
twenty six letters are all I have
to make sense of this pain
and fill the canyon between my heart and your head.
Words on a page cannot heal
when mankind’s meanings change-
when meanings change
the journey needs to be redefined,
and old words, and old meanings, have no meaning.
When words are in shock, worlds collapse.
Better to write than do nothing? No!
Better to write than do nothing?
No, better to listen to the silence, and
we all deserve a moment of silence,
shhhhhhhhhhh…
Say nothing. Do nothing. Be still.
Can you hear it –
the whimpering whispers
of falling angels
wrapped in dust,
not angel dust,
but the hot grey ash
of a crumbling civilisation.
In one mad moment
those planes licked the windows
of our civilisation
and our sense of security
panicked and jumped out of that window,
and fell…
and the world breathed pain
and fear melted our infrastructure
and I asked,
“what use is poetry?
what use is theatre?
what use is music?
what use is art?
what use is fiction?
what use is reality?”
gone Ginsberg,
gone Burroughs
gone Bukowski,
gone William Carlos Williams,
gone Lennon,
gone Hendrix,
gone Joplin,
gone Martin Luther King,
gone JF Kennedy,
gone Malcolm X…..
gone gone gone, gone gone gone gone gone,
gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone
Someone tried to light a candle
but tears kept putting it out
and a child asked, “Did God die today?”
and you asked, “Did love die today?”
and I asked, “Does it matter,
if you don’t lay next me no more?”
You are gone,
extinguished from my life.
I am one dark speck
in a constellation crushed by celestial ash,
like a delicate wave
consumed by its own froth,
like some ancient stain
fossilised into frozen desire,
submerged by the torment
of moment by moment eternities,
sitting on my balcony
waiting for the phone to ring.
It doesn’t.
You are gone.
No more
you and I will merge,
sealed by a relentless tenderness
as it collapses suddenly
into a suffocating
torrent of ash.
You were the valley
of a single petal,
now burnt to nothingness.
Under your skin
the world came alive
and time had no Time
and words needed no Words,
and the twin landscapes of your eyes
will embed you in my verse forever
and my finger trembling down your spine
will always in my mind
split the loveliness of your back
into
two
towers
of
love,
until, after one final moment of loving tenderness,
the freshness of our primal touch collapsed…
I loved you without knowing why,
I loved you without knowing how,
I loved you without knowing doubt,
but the demon in you,
the hermit,
the recluse
extinguished our flame into a nothingness
that words could not stop,
that words could not stop.
Now we all live on Ground Zero,
we all live alone;
we are an endangered species,
we are reason on a broken skyline, and
the day weighs heavy on the sidewalks
of an ashen hell,
and mankind was bitten by the demons of one man,
a hermit,
a recluse-
injecting the world with a toxic nightmare
that words could stop, that words cannot stop.
Stop running from the truth
stop running from each other
stop running from your self,
and stop this military solution
to all your inner problems.
Look through your pupils of fire,
look through you eyelids of ash;
we all breathed the dead with ash in our eyes
and it forced me to deny the supremacy of our architecture,
and it forced me to deny the supremacy of our technology,
and it forced me to deny the supremacy of our military,
and it forced me to deny the supremacy of our government,
and it forced me to deny the supremacy of capitalism,
and it forced me to deny the supremacy of our leadership,
and it forced me to deny the supremacy of our nationhood,
and it forced me to deny the supremacy of Christianity,
and it forced me to deny the supremacy of Islam,
and it forced me to deny the supremacy of Judaism,
and it forced me to deny the supremacy of Buddhism,
and it forced me to deny the supremacy of ego…
the supremacy of ego-
– the supremacy of ego
is what got us into this mess
in the first place!
This place,
standing on the 100th floor
of a crippled civilisation:
a civilisation built on anger
a civilisation built on greed
a civilisation built on lust
a civilisation built on ego
a civilisation built on captions-
Ground Zero is a caption,
a marketing ploy,
sexy today, forgotten tomorrow-
Did the Coliseum have a one hundredth floor?
Did the Pyramids have a one hundredth floor?
Did the Hippodrome have a one hundredth floor?
Did the Haghia Sophia have a one hundredth floor?
Did the Liurong Temple have a one hundredth floor?
Did the Temple of Solomon have a one hundredth floor?
Are these smouldering in a heap of smoking memory?
Words on a page
cannot undo the pain
cannot undo the torment
cannot undo the affliction
These are irreversible,
irreversible;
we as a species are
irreversible.
We thought we were adults,
only to realise we are infants bathing in putrid waters.
We as a civilisation thought we were indestructible,
only to find ourselves smouldering
in a heap of smoking memory.
One sting of bitter wretchedness,
one strain of inflamed torment
ripped the heart out of every pen
held in the frightened fingers
of every poet,
and delivered a cry that shattered every city,
butchering the Universal Soul
that had taken 10,000 years to cement
into some tenuous semblance of civilisation,
… semblance of civilisation.
We are alive
at a time after death,
and after death we pick up the pieces
of angels beaten by Time-
the broken pottery of consciousness,
the burnt paper of creativity,
the speechless mouthing of a language dying of shock:
“Oh my God!”
“This can’t be happening!”
“Unreal!”
“Get outta here!”
“Go figure!”
“No way, man!”
and the answer is not blowing in the wind-
it never was-
it’s in the heart and mind of one mad person
who chose not to leave us alone.
And our answer lies is stillness,
in silence,
in being left alone,
in silence,
shhhhhhhhhhh…
Say nothing.
Do nothing.
Be still.
Can you hear it –
the whimpering whispers
of falling angels
wrapped in dust,
not angel dust,
but the hot grey ash
of a crumbling civilisation.
We all deserve a moment of silence.
I never read the papers
and now I understand why-
Where is the happiness in history
Where is the playfulness in history?
Where is the light-heartedness in history?
Where is the contentment?
History is a series of labels
and labels are throw-away lies,
disposable truths,
and our civilisation is built on disposable truths,
and whether we like it or not we are caught
between the disposable and the dispensable.
Nothing in this poem is original,
nor is it meant to be.
Originality died 3,000 deaths ago.
Words could not get you back-
they are air.
Words can not replace our civilisation-
it is air.
Words on a page are irreversible.
History as labels is disposable
and all we are left with are words-
history is a junkyard of words…
poetry is a junkyard of words…
and our answer still lies in stillness,
in silence,
in being left alone,
in silence,
shhhhhhhhhhh…
Say nothing.
Do nothing.
Be still.
Can you hear it –
the whimpering whispers
of falling angels
wrapped in dust,
not angel dust,
but the hot grey ash
of a crumbling civilisation…
We all deserve a moment of silence.
Sept 15, 2001