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
Tag: frankverses
I Was Destined To Write This
I turn and reach for the phone
The light shocks the sleep out of my eyes
It’s 3:42 am and the world outside is as
Dark as dark could be
The phone tells me it’s Sunday already
But is it really?
It was dark when I went to sleep
On an ordinary Saturday night
And it is the same dark
Which surrounds me now
When did Saturday and Sunday change hands?
Do they have a defined process?
Is it documented and verified by cosmic powers?
Is it periodically checked and reviewed by superiors?
How does the transition work?
Does Saturday box all his
Baggage and hands over to Sunday?
Does Saturday switch off while
Sunday switches on?
Does Saturday serve his notice period?
Does Saturday say to Sunday — this
Is all the darkness I could
Handle, now it’s your problem; I’m outta here
I don’t know
It’s dark outside and my wife is snoring gently
Maybe my wife would have the answers
But she’s asleep
Peacefully, thankfully
If she were awake she
Would have asked me to
Go back to sleep
She says I think too much about work
And too little about myself
Do I?
I don’t know
It’s dark outside but some birds are busy chirping
I wonder if they saw the day change
I wonder if they saw something spectacular
And are now busy discussing the impact
It would have on the overall economy
I wonder if my eyes will ever see anything spectacular
Nothing spectacular has ever hit them
Nothing yet, but I am hopeful
If my wife were awake
She would have told me that
Everyone gets what they deserve
That what is meant to be will be
I wonder if darkness was meant to be
This darkness — this which envelops me
Like a ghastly blanket
Did it have a schedule handed out?
Is it merely following orders?
Did someone write this in its destiny?
I let out a yawn
Darkness has that effect on me
Maybe somebody wrote that yawn in my destiny
Somebody with powers enough
To establish and run the universe
Would have enough powers to
Dictate the lives of ordinary human beings
I feel like a dumb chatbot
Responsible for handling customer queries
And providing them with the best possible
Response based on pre-defined codes
An existential crisis hits me
Nothing spectacular though
Many such crises have hit me
At such odd hours
Maybe whoever wrote my destiny found it
Amusing to hit me with an existential crisis
At this time of the day when all is dark and quiet
While my head is ruptured with endless thoughts
Whoever he or she or it is
Must have had quite a chuckle when
It must have been written in my destiny that I will
Contemplate the creator’s existence at 3:49 am
On an ordinary Saturday night/Sunday morning
I wish he would have written something spectacular in my life
I don’t know what spectacular even means anymore
Maybe I already have experienced spectacular things but never bothered to see them as such
This life — the mere fact that I was born is spectacular, isn’t it?
We seem to take that for granted
I have taken it for granted all my life
I have gotten wet in the rain
I have felt the summer rays hit my skin and warm my soul
I have seen what autumn does to leaves
I have watched the snow turn the world white
I have fallen in love
I have got married
I have seen ants scurry around my feet
I have found a job after going through the horrible ordeal of an interview
I have been promoted
I have moved countries
I have spoken languages
I have had dreams
I have had nightmares
I have stayed awake all night
I have contemplated the creator on a Saturday night/Sunday morning
Whether or not he or she or it is real
Is not within my comprehension
It’s 3:52 am and
I am in the dark
Be Curious
Though he is inherently curious
A man is limited by his body and his senses
He may put in years of effort and
Become an expert in one niche field
Or maybe two or three
But he can never come close to
Understanding all that there is to understand
And it’s okay
It really is okay to not know everything
It is what keeps us curious and hungry
It is okay to not have all
The answers at the click of a button
It is okay to be unaware
What is not okay, however
Is to have no questions at all
It is far better to have one question and zero knowledge
Than it is to have expertise with brash certainty
Be curious
Be thirsty
But never ever believe that you or
Somebody else has all the answers
Be inquisitive
Be a doubting Thomas
Because doubts are exercises for the mind
The more you exercise
The stronger your mental muscles will become
It will hurt a little initially
Growth is never smooth or easy
One must struggle through pain and barriers
To reach new heights
But rest assured
You will be stronger
Wiser for it
A doubt will enrich you
More than an answer ever could
How To Say I Love You Without Saying I Love You #45
How To Say I Love You Without Saying I Love You #44
Wounded by life
You stand broken;
Heart shattered
Into a thousand pieces
I know you are
Not the kind of
Person to ask
For help but let
Me give it to you
Anyway
Let me put you
Back together
Piece by piece
Let me broaden that smile
Let me glue your confidence back
Let me stick joy in your body
Let me match your skin with bright sunlight
Let me throw away
All the unnecessary pieces
Let me wipe those tears
Let me remove damaging thoughts from your head
Let me cast away your fears
Let me discard your insecurities
Let me remind you how beautiful and whole you can be
Let me complete the jigsaw that is You
How To Say I Love You Without Saying I Love You #43
I painted the sky
With your favourite
Shade of blue
Adorned it with
Bright little flickers
Of light
Arranging them into
A constellation
Manifesting your face
With a smile
Running ‘cross
Scattered the sun-gorging
Clouds across the expanse
Commanded the moon
To glow brighter
Than it has ever done before
To emanate cool silver
Moonlight gently
Pouring on your skin
I moved and laid
Heavens
For you
How To Say I Love You Without Saying I Love You #42
How To Say I Love You Without Saying I Love You #41
This poem is based on the Red Thread of Fate, a belief originating from Chinese mythology. It is commonly thought of as an invisible cord wrapped around the finger of two lovers who are destined to meet each other. The cord may stretch or tangle, but never break.
How To Say I Love You Without Saying I Love You #40
You are the colour
Of my favourite shirt
I wear when I am happy
You are the colour
Of the walls and the ceiling
I stare at all day
You are the colour
Of my laughter
Without you there is no joy
You are the colour
Of the grass growing
In a crack on the sidewalk
You are the colour
Of the train I catch
To return home on Friday night
You are the colour
Of my spark
Without you there is no motivation
You are the colour
Of the drizzle
On a cool Sunday morning
You are the colour
Of the plate
In which I have my breakfast
You are the colour
Of my world
Without you it’s all black and white
How To Say I Love You Without Saying I Love You #39
Frank Solanki 