|
When a person dies,
the eyes grow wet.
If the one who leaves
is known
is close
then along with the eyes
the heart too dissolves
wailing
burning aloud.
If the departed
moved among people
drew people into his arms
disturbed the stillness of hearts
then not just eyes and hearts
but every atom of the body
every drop of blood
surging from the heart
breaks into sobs.
Alone in the dark,
grief and memory
are thrown together
inside the heart
like a mixer grinding endlessly
escape comes late
if at all.
What does it matter
who sings over a body
that has lost its breath,
collapsed into unconsciousness?
What does it matter
who carries it away?
Gunshots fired into the sky
whom do they really console?
Old photographs… poems…
songs… announcements
they only confirm
that the living once were.
The one who left
has already gone
quietly.
Grief is the human inner pilgrimage.
Lamentation is a public display.
+++++++++++++++++++
Image Copyright - Varala Anand |
