grief

Much

“You never will amount to much,” you said quietly. Not acknowledging that quiet is not silence. Unlike the silence that fell when you died for me, absolute and forever silencing the noise. Quiet calls for attention to the hum of voices in the background, the koel that sings, the wind that whistles, the moon that…

One day I will cry. And I will cry a river Cascading over landscapes unknown Thundering over rocks and stones Carving a path of its very own. And when the tears finally meet the sea, It will be on a widened estuary Peaceful and calm, no deltas for me No dredging on the edge to…

Anguish #NaPoWriMo

. That clock is not working, as always, A paper pasted on its face The same faces litter the library The same voices call out in place. I too go about my business as usual Hammering at the keyboard Downing coffee and conversation And forget that you are dead. Except now and then…

“Life is for the living.”

“Life is for the living,” my father used to say. I never really understood what he meant. Oh, I was familiar with death. I was never shielded from it and as a young teen, often accompanied my father on his occasional trips to the crematorium or graveyard. Later, on the way home, I would I…