In your eyes I have seen the fear
Of the silence that follows death.
Un-erasable, un-quiet-able silence.
Of the loneliness that ensues
And the realisation –
That the dead will never return.
That no matter how earnestly you try
Conversations will always be one-sided
And that there will be no more answers
No matter how many times you
Reword the question or cunningly
Try to manipulate it, to suit you.
That, un-kept promises will remain that way
And the embarrassing secret which
You were saving for the next rainy day
Will remain untold. Forever.
In your movements I have sensed
The frustration of want.
To hold them close just one more time
But all you can gather around
Is a bunch of memories and pictures that fade.
Every night you fall asleep
And the faces corrode – little by little
Till all that you remember
Are fragmented micro-pixels of their lives
All jumbled up and strewn all over.
And you loathe sleep.
But you can never get rid of it.
In your poetry I have read
The darkness of hopelessness and guilt
Of having survived when clearly
They deserved to live and not you.
Because no matter how long you live, you will
never become even half the people that they were.
And with every gasp of breath that you
pull into your lungs
You wish for it to be poisoned
So you could become one of them.
Someday you will have your way
And finally I will understand the intensity
Of all that you go through now.