Today, quite unexpectedly, I met you
around a sudden bed in my mind.
Your laughing Buddha face - crinkled,
kindness shining out of twinkly eyes.
You must forgive me the hot tearing of eyes,
the sharp, jagged desire, for a glimpse, a smile,
a warm, glowing conversation around a meal.
And memories flooding, tumbling, unstoppable,
that blindsided me and pinned me down
with hidden talons of longing, for a smile
now erased, for affection, not quite expressed
but arching from heart to heart.
“Surely,” you seemed to say, laughingly,
“you knew of life’s transience, its proclivity to end.
The Siddhartha I Flipkarted to you
would surely have shown you that.”
“Yes, but what about goodbyes, leave-taking?
your kind nature does not befit this abrupt,
sudden departure. You should have
sent a book on coping with loss instead,
with gaping voids that will not be filled.”
But no answer came, only the wind blew
a sad, melancholy tune and the treetops
nodded comfortingly. And, yes,
your smiling, sonorous, silence said,
‘there are no goodbyes for those who live inside.’
Remembering Amitji, a dear friend who passed away a few months ago.
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