I whisper sometimes to myself
If it is worth it
To give up a hundred happinesses
To avoid a single sadness
It makes me wonder to see
People sharing a part of their soul
With others; they make it seem so easy
Then I also reflect on solitude
That which makes a lot of people dread
Because it disguises itself as loneliness
I assure myself that I am okay
That solitude can be counted as a friend
That when others think I am talking to myself
I am actually conversing with my soul
I know this is going to sound awkward
But I cannot hold it inside me any longer
My skin, my veins, my body are urging
Me to ask you this and I can resist them no more
The question is this: am I going to die?
I know it sounds awkward coming from
A six-year old girl; but the question has been
Troubling me for quite some time; I feel
Quite relieved already getting it out of my system
But not as much as I would feel once I know
So, tell me; tell me the truth and I shall accept
It as it is; I shall not be melodramatic about
It at all; I shall feel quenched and nothing more
Haven’t you taught me that truth is important
Even if it hurts or even if it is deadly?
It actually sounds very amusing considering
That it was only as recent as the new year’s eve
That I felt as if I was going to live forever
I remember looking at the stars and whispering
To myself: why couldn’t I go on like they do?
It doesn’t look too amusing now that I am here
Lying helplessly and enervated on this bed with
Fever running through my bones; my fingers ache
As I hold on to your hand and I cannot bring
Myself to hold your hand tighter than this
This fever has suppressed my spirit and the fire
That used to burn within me; it has caused my throat to hurt with every cough I take; my head is hammered every minute as my lips go dry; the
Only thing it has not killed is my curiosity
Yes, I come back to the question again; do not
Try to let go of my grip even though it would not
Take a monumental effort for you to do so if
You so desired; I know we are all going to meet
Our fate; will I meet mine anytime soon?
What is it that sticks
to your skin and gradually
accumulates and begins
to form layers and layers of itself?
What is it that later
starts to melt and seeps
through the pores and mixes
with the blood in your veins?
What is it that then flows
to your heart to find
for itself a permanent
place of residency?
What is it that settles
in your heart and slowly
begins to take control of
your internal organs and systems?
What is it that later
dictates your mood
emotions and your state of mind?
No, it’s not love
‘What happened after I died?’
Hmmm, that’s an interesting question
Well, I found myself in heaven
And was given a home
Amongst the gods
It was pleasant, charming
And very real and also very
Unbelievably bright and
Sunny; I had the best of clothes
And the choicest food
My body felt no ache or
Pain; my bruises were healed
My skin was smooth and
Wrinkle-free and my hair
Was dark and glossy
I looked the best version
Of myself; and everyone I
Adored were there to sit
With me and chatter over
A cup of espresso coffee
Yes, I had everything that
One could ever wish for;
Despite all that there was
One flaw in it: it didn’t have
The two persons I love the most:
My husband and my daughter
Without giving it another thought
I left all of that and took on
This lifeless, ghoulish form
To come down and be with you;
for what is heaven without
The ones you love the most
After class, the kids rush
In the arms of their mothers
(And sometimes fathers)
Who are waiting for them
Outside the school gate
I am the last to walk out
Of the class because I
Have nobody waiting for me
I plod with my eyes to the
Ground, hoping to avoid
The sight of parental smiles
I try to mind my own business
I really try; but every once in a
While an idiot would call out
My name so loudly that I am
Left with no choice but to
Turn my face to them
They have only one question
To ask me and I don’t know
Why they never ask me about
You; they only want to know
About her; they ask me this:
Where’s your mom?
And I feel every nerve of my
Body tingle with embarrassment
At that question; it makes my
Whole body shiver and I am
Not sure how they can never see it
So, I come home and wait for
You; I twist and turn the question
In my head so I could find the
Best version of it that will fetch
Me the answer
Where’s mom?
Where has mom gone to?
When is mom going to come back?
Is mom going to pick me up from school tomorrow?
And a hundred more
So I ask you and hope that
You will help me out of this
Situation but you never do
You turn my question into a
Distraction and you bring up
The things that you want to
Talk about and that’s how
The question always hangs
Lately, however, I am filled
With this unquenchable urge
To ask you something more
Not because I have to answer
The kids back in school
But because I want to know
I want to know my mother
I want to know what kind of person she is
I want to know whether she has green skin or blue
I want to know whether she has stars for eyes
I want to know whether she believes in unicorns
I want to know everything about her
I want to know if she is left-handed or right
I want to know the way she ties her hair
I want to know what her favourite colour is
I want to know the sound of her voice
I want to know how she reads a fable
I want to know who she is
But you never tell me anything
You hide from me a diamond
As if the stone would lose its
Sheen if it ever came to be
Brought out in the light
It is very selfish of you
To keep that diamond all
To yourself, locked and
Carefully hidden away
In the darkest cavum
How is life like a seesaw?
It is full of ups and downs
How is love like a seesaw?
If you’re playing with someone, there will be highs and lows
If you’re playing alone, there will only be lows
And you’re not really playing
Do you dream, sir?
No, I am not talking about
Those blurry, flimsy, wispy clouds
That you see at night
With your eyes closed
Those are dreams alright
But it is not what I am alluding to
What I am alluding to
Are the dreams one sees
During one’s conscious hours
The thing that compels one
To wake up earlier than usual
The thing that stops one
From sleeping peacefully
The dream I am alluding to
Is the fire that burns within
The heart; the spark that lights
Up your eyes; the thought that
Absorbs you within itself
Yes, that is precisely the kind
Of dream I am speaking of
Those are the dreams that every
Person has in the most
Intense degree possible
These are the dreams that
No human being is immune from
For fire burns within each of us
Do not tell me it is rare
I shall not hear of it
I shall not be convinced otherwise
I am certain it is commonplace
I am definite of its presence
In each and every being
That claims to have a soul
It may not always be visible
Some show it upon their face —
The passion, the fervour
Whereas some nurture it
Quietly in the deepest, darkest
Chamber of their hearts
It may be wealth or success
Health or popularity
It may be jotting the thoughts
Inside your head on paper and
Exposing them to the world
Or it may be something as simple
As starting a family
Now imagine a common being
With such an ardent dream; working
Towards it night and day; gradually
Inching closer to the
Destination and preparing to
Celebrate the achievement as the
Fulfilment of the dream draws closer
Imagine such a being and then
Imagine also that this being
Is parted from his dream
Just as it was about
To be his or hers
By the cruel and wicked hands
Of Life; or perhaps I shall say
Of Death
Picture him or her trying to cling
On to the shards even though
They pierce through the skin
Visualise such a person
Trying to find joy
In hopelessness
One can easily then see
What the logical conclusion will be
The person will sooner rather than later
Realise the loss; the futility of it
Will dawn upon the mind and all
Around they will see nothing but
Despair
A man is nothing if he has no hope
When one loses one’s dream
One also loses one’s mind
Yes, Life is unkind and
Not all have enough fortitude
To face such emptiness
Do you dream, sir?
Yes, I know you do
We all do
How do I tell her?
How do I bring myself to tell her?
She’s just a little girl
A bud on a stem of the tree of life
She’s young, innocent
With no impure thoughts
If I tell her the truth
What will she understand?
What will she make of it all?
Death will seem an alien concept
An unfamiliar script
No, she will not take it well
Her mind will wander
Her mind will wonder
She will conjure ideas that may not be right
She may draw wrong conclusions
Yet she is adamant
She is incessant in her appeals
She wants to know her mother
In a way she is like her mother
Fiery, forceful and yet undeniably sweet
I distract her
I avoid the topic
But I wonder if she sees right through my diversions
I wonder; sometimes I wonder all night
How do I tell her?
How do I tell her?
Frank Solanki 