Withering Away
In the presence of her absence,
He tried to live on.Within the vacancy of their bed,
He tried to sleep on.
Through the veil of their memories,
He pretended to move on.
The smell of her hair,
The care in her eyes,The touch of her hand,
And the pain of her cries.
All this seemed distant now,
His loss was all that he could see.As she breathed her last breath,
So did he.
Sitting alone, he often wondered,
About the things he wanted to say.
Now, when she was dead,
He died every day.
Satvik, if this is written about someone you know and love, it's very sad, but at the same time, it reflects all the things we feel when we lose a loved one. I kept many of my mother's clothes for several years after her death, some that she had worn, because of the scent of her. It kept her alive, somehow, for me. You are a deep thinker, my friend.
ReplyDeleteI'm glad you liked it.
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