Monday, January 2, 2017


[For S. N. R.]

That was how he
rested his argument with the world.

At the first sunrise of a new year
as the rest of the world burst with optimism
and confetti still wafted on the streets

he succumbed to silence.

Time went on without him
as he slipped into the cradle of the past.
In an instant, he was.

Relinquishing his breath,
he embraced the air's stillness
and left his song behind for others to sing.

He didn't run out of music,
he ran out of time.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Thank you...

I woke up late that evening, and twilight had set in.
The air carried that familiar, heavy winter chill with it.
In the distance there was an echo, of a karaoke, I think. Faint, yet mellifluous.
It was an old Hindi number. One of those with those angsty Nadeem-Shravan tunes :)
The kinds dad loved to hum in the shower. Sing aloud when he was in a good mood, or bad.
For an anxious man, he sang a lot. And he had a beautiful voice.
He washed over the sea, with a playlist of his favorite songs as accompaniment, finally one with the air, finally everywhere.

And in that one moment, on that surreal winter evening, I stood by the window, transfixed, as the was, became is.

I miss you daddy.