Who will come and what will they
say on your death?
He had thought about it before.
He thought about it again,
today.
Standing in line to pay his
respects.
A manicured hand was going through open free hair in front.
Dark shades were being adjusted on
a face behind him.
What were they thinking? Were they
thinking about the person?
The good times..the bad ones..
Or the next thing to do after this
social rigamarole.
1. She pushes the dark shades up
her eyes
Hoists herself in the line of
respects
Dark shades help,
They hide so many things.
Lust, loss, love, loneliness.
Nobody knew of the bond they
shared.
The friendship..
How every time she was on the edge
Two friendly hands pulled her
back.
Funerals are no fun she thought..
That would have made those kind
eyes laugh..
Dark shades hide tears too.
She thinks about the things
to say to the loved ones at the end of the line.
Words catch in her throat ..make
way through her eyes
Hidden behind the shades, she says
nothing.. her eyes say everything.
2. Her hands were getting
caught in her unruly hair,
The multiple diamond bands, bracelets and bangles..all pulling at them.
She fears she will break a
nail..of one of her freshly manicured fingers.
A hand rests on her shoulder.
Saying with a hard squeeze don't fidget, don't look for a cigarette.
She looks back at the man with a
vice grip on her soul, her life, her laughter.
This pressure on her shoulder was
featherlight.
She looks ahead.. the line is moving too slowly..not at all for her.
It is as still and silent as the person at the end of it.
Silent at her tears, her screams, shrieks, her agony and her appeals.
Her eyes are full of loathing for that silence.
As the line moves.. there is only pity in her blank eyes.
3. He watches the line move forward
He thinks about the person who
died.
His loss..his love..his soulmate
Who had the courage, but he didn't
To defy the world, it's norms and it's clutches of tradition
He wanted to say I love you, I miss you.
But he couldn't.
People don't say what they want on your death.
They say want those who are left behind want to hear.
Everyone comes..almost
Most say little,
Some say nothing that matters.
The ones that matter stay silent forever.
The line has ended..so has the show.
The manicured hand is tapping ash out of a car window.
Through the dark shades she looks at the hand in the car and thinks.. lucky !!
Rolling up the window she sees dark shades..torn jeans..thinks..free !!
He shakes his head..muses..who will come and what they will say on his death?
Good person.. mad person.. definitely mad !!
He laughs, looks up at the sky hoping to hear that smile back.
Written 22nd July, 2019. (initial idea)
Hey junta..how are you all doing? I had said sometime ago actually a long time ago that I would not say long time no see or it's been a long time,, but frankly speaking its been a long time.. this poem took a long time coming..took sometime to come from paper to blog.. took some more time to write this comment..well long should be my middle name now.. :) :P but well.. so how you all? How's life? What you been all upto? I for starters have been so mired in the petty stuff that I think I forgot to breathe..so this poem is like a breath of fresh air..not my best or my finest..but still I can write. It may seem to be a bit long and a bit laboured..firstly because it took some effort, secondly because though I wrote it on paper first but not the entire poem and while writing it on the blog.. twice it did not get saved so had to write it again. Simplicity of thought gets muddied.
So this is my first poem that I wrote in a moving vehicle..a taxi.. while returning home..it is long journey.. see long again..:) It started with dark shades hide a lot idea. Then as I was in a taxi I remembered that sometime ago in another taxi ride I had seen a beautiful manicured hand out of car window tapping cigarette ash. I couldn't see the face and wondered about the story of that hand. So when dark shades hide tears.. tears in a funeral.. and this hand could have been going to or returning from a funeral. I had already written few lines for poem titled 'Who will come..' earlier from there came the idea of poem within a poem or short stories in a poem. Thus in this poem where three different people have come to the same funeral and telling their own stories. They see the other person and make assumptions without knowing what they are going through. We do that everyday no? Make assumptions about a person without knowing their life journey.
Have you ever wondered what will people say when you die? more than who will come.. Good person? everyone will say that right..thats a safe word :).. think about it..till then have fun and happy rediscovering yourself. So long !! ;) :P
