And, you left me all alone,
left in such a silence that
I could't even believe you are about to leave.

You left an undefined scar in my soul and
my teardrops enchanted those memories we shared together
and laughed over them hours.

You went away in such silence
that all I could do is just NOTHING
but hearing you to mourn in such dogma.

Tears just drop by my cheeks and I just
wish you to come down and tell me,
              "I am here, my darling,
               Don't you worry child....
               I can't ever leave you alone."

They said, life isn't fair, life is never trustworthy.
Now I see an feel that hard every night.
I never felt that I can't hear your voice anymore anytime sooner or later.

It all comes and goes....
what matters is the in-between time
you spend together by thick and thin holding on to each other.

You were lying on the bed when
I last saw you and there also you were fighting
to get over that period.

Remember? We laughed there too when you said
you had 26 milk pies and I strictly said,
"Get well soon Dadu. After you go home you will be having curd-rice and "Khichudi".
..... And God never wanted that to happen maybe.
After that you couldn't go back home,
you left this virtual world that very night after suffering so profusely.

You were 72 and I was 22;
but we never bothered about this algorithm.

There were healthy talks over he sunsets, over the pages of my sketchbooks.
You were my biggest inspiration and critique for every work; cause you
always questioned their existence and morality.
You always chanted honesty throughout your life and give me
strength, so that I can follow your path.

One day, you will be a proud grandfather who will be seeing my works getting recognised all around the world and then we will laugh together...

Me, from the terrace and
You, from that sky.

Come soon,
come in a disguise,
come as my soulmate,
come as my midnight friend.....
....... but come back, please.
because Payel misses your presence and laughter.

I will weep and bawl on my bed some nights,
knowing I can't see you anytime ever.

That heart-wrenching pain and undefined scar in my lotus-heart will bloom someday with your desired presence in my success and failure both....    I believe so.

I believe in you,
I believe in us.
Because, God snatched one of my biggest possession without even asking for it.
You have to come back.....
... and you will.

To those talks and platonic love,
you are being missed Dadu.

I wish, I had some digits to call you up just to ask,
if they are providing you with some spicy food or not.

LIVE FOREVER.
YOUNG HEART N SOUL.

Eleven years ago
A Saturday afternoon
Warm
Movie on the couch
The phone rings
Mom is crying
We drive quickly
The hospital seems small
Aunt and Grandma are there already
Grandpa is hurt
He's not in the room
We're alone
Waiting
A doctor comes
He's emotionless, stoic
He talks with us
Grandpa is gone
Dead
Hope crumbles, ceases
We weep, wail, embrace
I'm angry, enraged, betrayed
I leave
But
Solitude yields no better solace
I return
Still angry
Dad comes in
He's crying
Dad never cries
I cry, too
The sheriff comes
He talks about paperwork
He talks too much
We go see Grandpa
He's just lying there
A pillow beneath his head
A blanket pulled to his chest
Still
Silent
Sleeping?
He's gone
But still here
The next day
Sunday morning
In church
We sing
We sing about standing
Standing in heaven
In heaven praising God
Grandpa had trouble standing
His legs were weak
But that morning
He had no problem standing
No problem
At all.

They lay on Normandy.
Two hundred miles away, the empty shells of humans
Who lie below the streets
Felt the poison that lurked above.

They shuffled out of the underground,
Boarding trains and ships like corpses
And dropping bombs from miles above.

A little French boy is spared.
His brother whispers “Bon courage,”
As the rest of the family are taken out back
And shot like mad dogs.

Twenty years later, he stands on the beach
With his young wife
Watching their sons roll and play in the sand.

His tongue tastes a warm salt
That couldn't come from the ocean.
All he can taste from the ocean is blood.

I can see my grandfather clearly
With tears falling down his face
As his mother shuts the piano.
“There will be no music,” she says quietly.

She is an immigrant
And I wonder if she questions the choice
That brought her son to a country where he might lay down his life
For strangers, four thousand miles away.

I can feel him now
Hiding in the apple trees,
High above the others.
He is in Sainte-Mère-Église, and there are enemies below.

And now I take them in my arms
Cradling them like children
“Je vous embrasse, les deux,”
And I lie down on the edge of the ocean at Normandy.

I exhale and hold them close.
The sun is shining, and I do not cry;
It is nothing but salt and water to me.

I thank the Lord
I praise the Lord
Forgive me if I did something wrong
It wasn't my intention
Kept everyone in good positions
Forgive me if I was unjust
My dear lovely children
You've been better than the best
Always there in my happy times
More so in my distress
And my grandchildren, with all my heart
Best wishes for your future
May you grow up to be reflections
Just like your parents
They've been too kind
To my dear wife
My sole walking stick in dark nights
You've been my eternal love,
My partner, my sunshine
My body might be away, but you'll always have control
My heart is forever yours, I'll guide you with my soul
And with each morning, in the rays I shall emerge
Sieve through the moon, when it turns night
There is hope, for our love
There is hope
See you on the other side.

I pondered, pained, to see him kneel,
And talk of growing old -
I didn't think I'd like the feel
Of water running cold.

He caught the look at once and smiled,
And said: 'But nevermind -
There's warmth to hold and cherish, child,
In what you leave behind.'

He wrapped me in his arms with pride,
And said: 'And don't forget -
A hug can keep me warm,' he sighed...
'A little longer yet.'

When she speaks of me
They will think Granda
Is an old man, who wears
Corduroy pants
And a cloth Paddy cap.
They will also think
I wear wire-rimmed specs
And slippers.
That I have a loving heart.
I do.
I'm so pleased Aine
Speaks of me.

Evening light is gentle, slow
Caressing leaves, metal roofs, soil
Plants, flowers, pavements and gates
Clouds are the mothers - they shield us
Lest the sun shines too much.

Take a breath and look around;
The sweet and tranquil garden will take it away.
All colour blend in synchronised harmony;
Blues and browns, pinks and whites
Crossing into and over each other like
oil paints,
Warm, welcoming, beautiful.

It is soothing - the sound of nothing
That disrupts; razes; hates
Disturbs; curbs quiet insight;
One's imagination is the lone
source of maximum sound
That vibrates through the garden.

My grandfather, my grandmother's brother,
Smiles as though the sun shines through his teeth
Dresses in a pale blue shirt
Black shorts
Both well-worn
Ready to play
some basketball.

Oh, the joy, the fun
The refreshment arising from this game in a courtyard
In grandfather's garden
Among young trees, leaves and other green growth.
There stands a home by hand made
Basketball stand,
A concrete base with metal support hands
Floppy strings of hoop
To shoot the ball into.

The garden has been bathed, it is fresh
It is refreshed.
Grandfather demonstrates, I listen and follow,
To throw the ball into the hoop
With precision and care; throw some force
Into the air.
The ball dances around the circle
then drops to the concrete floor.

We take turns
As I throw and grandfather returns
9/10 of the time my aim's bad
but the ball grandfather throws, I actually catch!
(Or it will tumble on wet soil)

Exciting, the thumping
of rubber ball against ground;
Keen eyes and agile hands and feet
To catch the stray ball;
With swift movements the ball flies!
From sideways, afar and near,
Into the hoop successfully, finally.

Back into the house we go,
As the sun leaves for home.
The garden prepares for night;
So do grandfather and I;
Grandfather washes up; I talk to
Grandmother in the garden;
waiting for night, to
fall
fall
fall,
into infinite darkness -
poignant memories

You are the man I wanted to be when I grew up.
The man who taught me to take care of others.
The one man I would follow to the ends of the earth.
I have always loved you more than any other,
And I haven’t seen your face in fifteen years.

You taught me to love unconditionally,
To live every day like it’s your last,
To never take what wasn’t given freely,
To help anyone in need,
And ask for nothing in return.

There are so many questions I never got to ask you,
So many stories I never got to hear from your lips.
Like how you got your purple heart and bronze star.
I found out years after you died,
When I found the military report,
And as I read of your selfless acts of bravery, I wept.

You laughed like a child,
Wept like a widow,
Had the eyes of an angel,
The hands of a carpenter,
And the heart of a saint.

You taught me that the caliber of a woman,
Can always be seen in her feet.
And the worth of a man,
Is always in his hands.

You were a farm boy.
Poor, uneducated, long hair and no shoes.
Your mother, with her fiery hair,
Couldn’t read a word but
She sure slept with a gun under her pillow.
You knew what it was like to live off the land,
And you inspired me to believe
That we can grow beyond what we’re born into.

But as I’ve grown up,
I’ve learned of your faults.
After all, even saints have their sins.
You were spineless against the wrath of your wife,
You let your daughters be abused
Because you simply didn’t want to fight.
And despite that I’ve always tried to follow in your footsteps,
Help those around me,
Be nice for the sake of being nice,
Never pass judgement,
And greet your enemies with open arms…
The last words I heard from your lips were these,
“Don’t be nice to people, it will only get you walked on.”

Now as I’ve grown up,
I’ve learned you weren’t perfect.
You were just a man.
Perhaps a great man, but a man nonetheless.
And I may not look on you with rose tinted eyes,
But knowing your faults just makes me love you more.
Because now I know that you were made just like me,
You stumbled,
You fell,
You made your mistakes,
You bruised your knees,
And cried yourself to sleep.
I know that I can live up to you,
I can make you proud,
Despite my mistakes.

So I didn’t shed one tear at your funeral,
Because I didn’t believe that you were gone.
And I may cry from time to time now,
But I still know you aren’t really gone.
Because you’re alive in my heart,
In my dreams and my hopes.
Because someday I’ll be a good man,
And that’s thanks to you.

You see, I’ve always wondered
Why I’ve made it through hard times
And harder times still.
Because, truthfully, I’m not quite that strong.
And I know I can’t get by on my own.
So, I think that someone up there,
Is looking out for me.
Holding my hand when I feel alone,
Picking me up when I can’t go on,
Giving me courage when I’m scared to death…
And I think, I wish, I hope and I dream
That maybe,
Just maybe,
That person is you.

the archers have their fingers
pointed squarely at the hotel singer
smoke on the edge of their mouths
coiling sweetly all across the house
and the trees will part
for a song and a blood sacrifice

bowed low over a guitar
trying to teach himself the meaning of pain
sitting in the dark of a car
doing his best to convincingly feign
the long-suffering fool
with everything to gain

her ashes sunk in the sand
and the rest went over the electric dam
in the dark the mournful loon calls
as trumpets echoed in the concrete halls
and the rapids will churn
with a growl and the whisper of a lovely fern