the grief of being human

there is a grief
beyond
this utter wilderness
of loss

it is the grief
that I could not see you

I could not feel
beyond this veil
shrouding the truth

the truth of love
and of being human,
with you.

Vignette

dressing her for the pyre
with a sari
that she would never wear
draping her tiny form,
a mother presses
the last round bindi
onto her baby's face,
whispering words
of love and loss,
for a life
taken away too soon;

a daughter draped
in red and white,
and a bindi
centered
between her brows,
lights her father's chest
with a handful of fire
torn from her burning gut,
and she whispers nothing;

a deathly silence
smudges the edges,
and deepens the colours
of a wordless void
etched in the ether -
of a mother,
a daughter,
their loss, and
an unbordered love.

The Pill

you take a pill
when you can just chill
in the space between
where you were
and where you want to be;
would you rather
swallow yourself whole,
and not look down
the dark hole,
where pills fall
like wishful pennies
into the well of grief?
what is relief to a soul
that's here
only to find succour
in itself?

The Gift

and I wanted
so much,
to draw you
with my hands,
to give you
yourself,
so you could see
what you drew
inside of me -
the gift that I couldn't
give to you;
the gift that I gave myself
tonight,
when I drew you
with my aching heart,
as you came alive
through the frame
on a colourless wall.