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On Learning To Let Go

On Learning To Let Go

2 mins 1.1K 2 mins 1.1K

It has been one week, 3 weeks, 2 months,

6 months, one year, 4 years since you have gone.

The seats around the stage

Seem to be emptying slowly.

Friends disappearing to death

Until strangers are the only familiarity.

The rainstorms are no longer in rage.

The voices, no longer whisper your name

The land has started to blossom.

The trees have shed.

And after words had chosen to forget me,

Death, has filled my pen with ink.

I am angry. Angry that you have left me.

Angry that I am the only one left

To hold memories that we were

Supposed to hold, together.

Angry that every turn of the road

Reminds me of bike rides and conversations,

Angry that I am the only player

Sitting across the carrom board.

I feel you in the empty shells of human beings

Left behind to hold the memories

That we were supposed to share.

I wish I could believe in an "up there".

To believe that you were happy "up there".

To wonder if you were happy "up there".

There is something about people

Recollecting happiness in funerals

That makes it sad.

There is something about funerals

In the rain that makes it worse.

I hate funerals. Maybe because I hate crowds.

We never did like crowds, you and I.

We always met up in two's, just you and I.

Kind off odd to have so many people

Calling me to come.

A flood of people,

Waiting to say goodbye.

I don't go.

The birds are calling out from the trees.

They like hanging around their conversation,

picking up their food and chattering.

One little fellow hangs close to our upstairs window sill,

dragging his wings on the ground.

He likes the sunsets,

Watches them with a certain resign every night.

I don't know if hope is a gentle teacher.

She is the one whose skirts I cling onto,

Like a kid on the first day of school.

I know that's what got me through.

So, I will meet you again

As the soil, the grass grows on.

As we weave our stories together, in stories.

In the learning, the holding on, the letting go,

Though the forest and path are unknown.

I know I do not want to stay.

It is sunset.

This will be my flight.

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