december

december

until last year, was full of lucid magic for me.
with your choosing this month,
to pass onto an unknown journey
you've stirred it with memories of you
and the fathomless magic of death.

now, soft with remembrance,
i'm welcoming december in a place, inside me
where all magic truly happens.

still breathing

still breathing 

 

you are not here
and life still continues to breathe
just like before.
the sun still brightens my days
and the moon perfumes my nights.
my life is still stringed with everyday joys.

i still feel. i still continue to love.

i still continue to touch your hand in your picture.
hoping, feeling you again.
still talk of you to saanjh as if you're with us. home. listening. smiling.
still think of you every time i make your favourite mithai.
still share my overwhelm with you every night listening to our favourite ghazals.

but not every moment i live.

i sometimes forget that you really aren't here.
every month i forget your anniversary, until ma reminds me.

when people who've known us together
ask me how i am in your absence.
i don't really answer that question
because i’m not sure i can explain.
i’m not sure they'll understand.

while you were here,
i lived with you and loved you like i’ll never love anyone
now when you're gone,
i hold you gently in me like i’d hold the most delicate withered flower.
with no less love than when it was fresh.
it has died, but it still breathes, in me. like you do.
there's no space for sadness.
only love.

everyday, yellowed leaves fall off their branch
and their trees live on gracefully.
how can their continued living be a measure of the love they shared together.

.

life goes on into the next day.
and death awaits.
always.

this time, last year

this time, last year

i remember this time, last year
when the full moon of vaiśākha bloomed in the spring sky
and you were by our side.

sometimes i think how i’ve learnt to live in your absence
i think of death. and how it’s married to life.
i’ve felt how when it seeks kindly, submission can be unmiserable.
it sought you kindly. at the end of a beautiful life.
perhaps why, i haven't mourned you.
i don't miss you sadly. i just miss you.
i’ve come to know how death can be a different kind of friend from life.
whenever it may come into our lives, i ask for it to come like a friend,
whom i can embrace with peace and let nudge me close to life.
i pray for its kindness always, as i pray for life’s.

some other times i’m engulfed by death’s surrealness,
a thousand questions and its divine power.
how small and incapable we are in its wake.
my soul bows to it and once again asks for its kindness.

.

in the evening, saanjh and i burnt incense
and offered our obeisance to buddha
i told her of his birth, and how his reverence for peace
makes him mine and her nana’s spirit god.
later, as we stood admiring the full moon,
i hoped, at that very moment it was blessing upon you too, wherever you may be.

. . .

saturday nightfall
the twenty first
vaiśākha

notes from winter

notes from winter

 

H E M A N T A   R I T U
mārgaśīrṣa | pauṣa

this winter was yours
in life, death and memories.
feelings, understanding and new meaning.

i gathered everything that it brought
in my mute words and let it linger inside, unheard.
while my love, light and divine like the sky,
flowed eastward, to meet the rising sun
and live thoughtfully each new day.

stillness

stillness

stillness. i sit with it,
in between work and loving my family.
it feels like being at the centre
of a mandala of nothingness

only dense calm
stretched all around
and far into the distance

then, your memory
like the wind penetrating a grove
gently breezes in
and wraps around me
like a familiar shawl

in those moments of stillness
i let myself be held,
and shaped by your thoughts.

. . .

sunday nightfall
the tenth
pauṣa

these days

these days

my life reflects the season outside

the cold mornings and night
hurt fierce like your missing
while a deep serenity,
like the warmth of the winter’s sun,
fills up all the space in my chest.

we wake up at dawn
and visit the awakening ghat

as we sit listening to the sanskrit chants of your antyeṣṭi
my mind begins to find divinity
in the smell of incense that embraces the mist
in birds perched on wires, sunbathing
the kindhearted december sun
in diyas and flowers placed in leaf cups floating on the icy river

my edges feel softened
and i offer you my own humble shraddhanjali.

at home, i weave your memories with our everyday
make a twig-star for saanjh on christmas
gaze at your picture on the wall many times a day
light a diya of remembrance, every morning and dusk
make your favourite mithai again and again
smile often

.

i'll remember these days

. . .

tuesday nightfall
the twenty ninth
pauṣa

18.12.2015

18.12.2015

last night, i stayed awake after midnight
listening to you call my name
sitting, shattered and helpless, by your bedside
seeing you battle pain
giving you sips of water
caressing your face
and finding my own solace in the touch of your hands

it was the time for waiting

as dawn came, and the sun rose
your soul rose too
leaving your body quietened forever

for the first time in my life
i met death
i felt
.

i ignited your pyre with my hands
saw you embraced by the sacred fire
and carried into the sky by the wind

lightness filled me
and i wanted to share what i felt with you
but you aren't here

.

this morning, we collected your ash
consecrated you to the holy water
and offered our obeisance

earth. fire. wind. water.
mokṣa

.

i cannot birth words that can contain my love for you
so i remain silent

sometimes unexplainable tears flow
sometimes mid-sentence i'm touched by your memory

i'm still learning to comprehend

but, at heart, i'm ungrieving
it was the time to let you make your journey
i will never know where

.

now, every morning will remind me of you
and with every sunrise,
you'll arise in me

i will continue to do my karma
with a knowing, that your story will continue in me

. . .

a soul born in the mountains of nepal
orphaned at young age
migrated from his country land
orbited for years through the breadth of india
chose to marry an orphan
created a family of two girls
worked till the age of eighty
became nana to his granddaughter
completed ninety years
lived a full life

my papa. my wise-old-sage

. . .

saturday nightfall
the nineteenth
mārgaśīrṣa