As the hour passes, grief cumulates
into nascent debris of nothingness.
Even with all arms folded neatly
or even haphazardly to the chest,
a vulnerability pulverizes the brightness
of your existence.
A silence deafens your vision.
Death sweeps a block of your reality.
It diminishes you :
You can’t hymn this untouched air.
It is a sudden void now.
You can’t unheed this strange silence.
It is a voiceless cry now.
The timid drops of time,
sunlight through a dusted shard of glass,
the chirp of a random bird,
the bustle of familiar road,
a heart stitched with a thread
made of fine-tuned painless ambitions,
is all you have now
and this elegy, for the unseen
to be read, when it rains.