Ten men out to dine, soon they were down to
nine; nine men lost their head, one of them
dropped dead; eight men left to fight, now
they were a man light; seven men
decided to play, one fellow ran
away; six men crossed the
road, one of them
got bored; five
men took
a
boat,
one of
them couldn’t float;
four men jumped in
a sea, out came only
three; three men picked a card,
one guy cried hard; two men had
no clue, one of them lost his shoe;
one man wept alone, turned into a dry stone;
oh the poem is done for then there were none
Category: Death
Dolores #4 or Can Grief Carry My Heart?
My heart weighs a little over ten ounces
I can tell by the way it beats
It used to be filled with love to the brim
Wave after wave of red splashing on the shore
That love has now been renamed
It is still love, make no mistake, only heavier
The waves are still, silent almost
Barely a ripple runs across the surface
Yet it runs deeper than it ever has
It strains the muscles of my heart
To carry that weight around
For years and years
The heartbeats, like my breaths, turn long and deep
I wonder, even wish sometimes,
If the roles could be reversed
That if Grief could carry my heart
Instead of my heart carrying Grief
Would I feel a little lighter?
Would I feel a little less burdened?
I wonder if Grief is strong enough
To carry a little over ten ounces in its arms
For a single minute
Dolores #3 or How Tall is Grief’s Shadow?
I rise from my sleep and
Check the clock by the bedside
It’s twenty minutes past
Midnight
I wipe the sweat off my
Forehead and try to
Control my heavy
Breathing
I approach the mirror
Illuminated miserly by
The penetrating, silver
Moonlight
I do not see my reflection
Instead it is a pitch-dark
Silhouette staring back at me
Unnervingly
I watch it grow steadily
Continually; till the mirror
Could no longer hold it
Prisoner
The silhouette curves its back
To avoid hitting the ceiling
It beckons me to come
Closer
I stand there stunned, amazed
Confused; like a child in the
Vicinity of a massive, black
Tree
It beckons me again and again
Hesitatingly I move towards it
Its dark tail wagging with
Fervour
It wraps its arms around me
In a comforting embrace and
Then lifts me up to its lightless
Face
Its mouth opens and I can see
The universe dancing inside
With a swift movement I am
Swallowed
I land on a soft bed and
Check the clock floating overhead
It’s fifteen minutes past
Midnight
Dolores #2 or How Not To Deal With Grief
I tried humour first
Tried laughing it off
Only to hear my echo
Return with a penetrating force
I tried talking about it
Only to realise I didn’t have enough words to say
I checked online
Others were caught in the same conundrum
Everybody wanted to share
But nobody had the vocabulary
I tried sad songs and movies
I sat with her and flipped
Through tunes and scenes
To get a sense of what others are going through
Mistake number one
She understood that it was the norm
To overstay your welcome
And live rent-free in your host’s overflowing heart
I tried isolation next
Locked her in a dark room
Left her to starve
I was sure she’d stop annoying me
I was wrong
She didn’t cease her misbehaviour
It only made her worse
It made her stronger
Mistake number two
I tried ignoring her
Tried giving her no attention
Only to realise I
Needed her as much
As she needed me
Or perhaps more
Strike three
I’ve given up
I’ve no hope in me
I must embrace it
Let my life revolve around it
Place my bricks around it
And build myself a refuge
If I can
My Mother Is Not Dead
Because death is such a human
way of saying that the body
is no longer breathing;
Calling it a really long nap
would make it sound frivolous;
It would take away the seriousness
with which we dispose off
the unconscious mass of flesh and bones;
Who or what will comfort the “living”
but the relief attained on releasing
the body back to Nature —
back to where it came from?
Because death’s job is to carve
out suffering from the victim and
divide it amongst the ones left behind
Disproportionately
My mother is not dead
because death is merely a placeholder —
a term used to define the end of
the person we used to know
for that person has now changed —
that person no longer listens to your stories
or laughs at your jokes;
that person no longer looks into your eyes
or waves you goodbye;
that person no longer smiles;
that person no longer cries;
that person does nothing human;
that person has changed
and that changes you
My mother is not dead
because death requires birth
and birth is merely a placeholder —
a term used to denote the beginning
of all that “life” has to offer
because a life may be just a
collection of chemicals but
oh what a beautifully built
assemblage it can be:
full of proteins, energy, blood
hair, hands, legs, nose
eyes, ears, lungs, toes
and most importantly, love
My mother is not dead
because birth is such a human
way of saying that the body
has stepped out of the womb
into the light of the day;
How else would you describe
the culmination of a masterpiece
nine months in the making,
resulting in screams of exultation
and tears in a small group of adults
clamouring to hold the little
bundle in their arms?
But the baby was there before
it stepped out of the womb —
in the form of a foetus with
its organs growing and maturing,
and before that it was an embryo,
and a blastocyst, and a morula,
and a zygote, and a gamete split
half into one and half into another;
and if we trace it further back
we will reach the “death” of stars;
the baby has always been around
you have always been around
I have always been around
in one form or another;
only in this form I am conscious
with proper feelings
only in this form I have a name
a proper noun
only in this form I get to call her Ma
My mother is not dead because
she was never born
Darkness Upon My Cells
One Question
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?
Dolores
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
A Glimpse Of Heaven
‘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
The Darkest Cavum
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
Frank Solanki 