They say time heals—
but time has hands that only take.
They took him.
Took the sound of his laughter,
the way he said my name like it meant something more,
like I mattered in a way only he could prove.

They took my person.

Saahil.

Say it.

Saahil.
Let the name fall like a stone in your throat.
Let it choke you like it does me
every single morning
I wake up in a world that forgot how to include him.

He wasn’t just my brother.
He was my shadow when I was lost,
my mirror when I forgot who I was,
my lighthouse when I stopped swimming.
And now—
there is no shoreline.
Just waves.

He was coloured ink on a book written in black.
He didn’t just live,
he bled beauty.
He was the kind of soul that made you believe
that maybe, just maybe,
God did make art sometimes.

He was the sound of my childhood.
The bruises on my knees from games that turned into wars,
the breathless laughter
after we swore we'd hate each other forever—
but never did.

He was warmth.
He was home.
He was both halves of my heartbeat.

And now I am just an echo.

Do you know what it is
to have a whole language with someone
and then suddenly go mute?
To lose not just a person
but the version of you
that only existed in their eyes?

I would burn this world to ash
just to feel the weight of his arm around my shoulders.
I would sell every sunrise
just to hear him argue with me again.

He was the cold side of the pillow,
the smell of morning coffee,
the breath before a laugh,
the silence after a song you didn’t want to end.

He was the last piece of chocolate
I would fight him for—
and now I’d give it up in a heartbeat
just to hear him call me dramatic one more time.

But all I have is memory.
And memory is a cruel, flickering god—
it shows me his face,
but never lets me touch it.

So I live in the past,
because that’s where he lives.
He exists in flashbacks now.
In ghost smiles.
In the empty space next to me at dinner.

But I swear this on my grief:
I will not let this world forget.
I will carry his name like a war cry.
I will tell his story until my voice gives out.
I will carve his name into every generation
that follows me.

And when they ask,
"Who was Saahil?"
I’ll say:

He was everything good,
and everything gone too soon.
He was loud love and loud life.
He was fire and water.
He was sunlight through cracked blinds
on the days I didn’t want to get out of bed.
He was the reason I believed in forever—
until forever changed its meaning.

So I’ll climb the highest mountain,
shatter my lungs into pieces,
and scream so loud the sky will split:

Saahil existed.
And he was an extraordinary man.
He mattered.
He still matters.
And if there is a heaven—
they are louder now.
Because he’s there.
And they know his name.

Saahil.
Say it.
Let it ache.
Let it live.
Let him live.

- s h a s -

Mere priye paardarshi!



O mere priye paardarshi,
Apne muskurate hue
pratibimba ke saath
meri raksha karna!

Mera saahil nibha
chuka hai kuch
laazim vaaden!

Pyaas nahi
rahi, toh
sahan-sheelata
kese aayegi is
dardmand-dil se?

O naavik, apne
chhipe hue gamon se
Is aashiqe-beemaar
ka khyaal rakhna!

Apne khule dil se iski
sthiti aabaad rakhna!

Apne zameer ko dokha
mat dena!

Majnu ki tarah mat rona!
Majnu ke hausle ki tarah
jaroor chamakana!

-Shivpriya
#shivpoetesspriya