Category: Written in 2026

I rearrange the photos I printed of you, 

Two amongst the flowers, one in a frame.

It has been thirteen days since you passed;

Thirteen days, since I called out your name…

I refill the oil in the diya that burns for you,

The flowers in the vases haven’t quite died;

The loss of you seems to have numbed my heart;

But not enough, since I have unevenly cried. 

I used to call you my first-born son;

For my sons, I tried to be the father I never had;

But for each of you, my love was strangely given –

And I know, I know, at times, I made you very sad.

I’m sorry. But I tried my best. 

I have held you in my arms and I have sung to you; 

You wagged your whippy tail then and were glad:

You were my honey-bunch sugar-plum, my sweetie-pie,

Never doubt, I was very proud to be your dad. 

It’s been thirteen days and I can’t let you go;

Your life and death come to me in flashes –

I yet sing to you and will forever more,

Even after having surrendered your ashes. 

Like all my kids that have passed on by,

You shall be somewhere close, some place near; 

And I’ll always sing a song for you, my son,

Because you were and are so very, very dear.