Life’s symphony is never a swansong
It took me forever to fathom these words
That dreams are dreams
Because you were never really gone…Nature, my first teacher, taught me
To listen to the chirpings of birds
The rumbling of thunder on lonely dark nights
But how do I discern the fading heartbeats of a brother?
Inkling failed me and your heart snap’d
When that stealthy ripper with the scythe
Sneaked in to harvest the unripe fruits
That grew amongst thorns
My voice, lacerated with grief of untimely departures
Signal decibels too faint to reach God’s ears
Where do the souls of the departed go?
Do they get distilled over their substances
And ascend to supernal grace
Or do they simply wander?
If they truly roam
Let yours roam heavenly places called home
And let no mob unleash the veil from your masquerade
Time waits for no swansong
Your stay here was so brief
Yet, at every outpost of life you lived like a king
Our memories; the evanescent temperament belong to time
And are stored in the timeless chest of the bottomless depth of forever
Whence I would from time to time dive
To refresh my soul in the convivial aura of your glamour
While we wondered , why so abrupt?
You left with cryptic messages
Of a weary body and a soul torn apart
Twelve moons after, I finally found my voice
To mourn a brother close to my heart
Dedicated to a Brother