[For Mark Strand]
Reading early this morning
I stumbled upon your death in the pages
like an old bill I'd forgotten to pay.
April 11, 1934 – November 29, 2014.
It has been nine months.
("Enough time for a new life",
I can almost hear you say.)
I confess I always felt
I would meet you someday.
No reason, just a whimsy
but I believed in it all the same.
Clearly, I underestimated death.
(Don't we all?)
You are gone now,
and we are separated
by this great dark ocean called life.
[27th August 2015 | New Delhi]
Reading early this morning
I stumbled upon your death in the pages
like an old bill I'd forgotten to pay.
April 11, 1934 – November 29, 2014.
It has been nine months.
("Enough time for a new life",
I can almost hear you say.)
I confess I always felt
I would meet you someday.
No reason, just a whimsy
but I believed in it all the same.
Clearly, I underestimated death.
(Don't we all?)
You are gone now,
and we are separated
by this great dark ocean called life.
[27th August 2015 | New Delhi]
1 comment:
But you are not, separated. He lives forever in his works to be revisited yet and yet again.
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