tiny things

I shall write of tiny things

Like the conch shell that fits in my palm 

into which the ocean leaps

 

Like the flame at the end of a match 

The second before it consumes a forest 

Like the snowflake on a mountain

that melts into the river

Like this tear drop in the corner of my eye

That holds the weight of your loss

---------

Like the tail hair of a bull

That you hold on to go to the great beyond

Like the crescent shaped nail I bite off

With calcium passed to me from my great great great grandmother

Like the grain of sand at the bottom of the marina trench

That will one day sit on the top of a mountain

Like your palm in mine 

Holding all

what is life

What makes us alive? 

A beating heart 

A working brain

Eyes that dart

Ears that bend to the sound of butterfly wings? 

The breath we draw

The space we take up on earth, 

in the memories of others

The words and dreams we whisper to the air?

Our Aatma animating our bodies despite the Paramatma's magnetic pull

So we linger after our desires?

When we leave this world 

will we depart with a song in our heads that we continue humming 

our way on? 

impending grief

Grief

sits with us at the table

rides the bus with us 

snuggles up in bed

presses on our eyelids

shackles our feet

so we move 

as though underwater, .

wading towards 

the moment

we remove the tube

and wait.

---‐----‐--------

making sense 

of our days with her,

now without her.

-----

Focusing on the happiness of her end

The joyful union

of her soul with the great soul

towards the moment

we remove the tube

and wait

-----

Slowly pushing through 

The thoughts memories 

Making sense of our days with her

Now without her

Focusing on the happiness of her end

The joyful union

of her soul with the great soul

We watch 

her heart heave and fall 

for the last time

Pray let us be strong

Tomorrow 

Knowing its the last time we make an archanai for her in her name

I had a conversation with her yesterday 

Told her how often i think of her even if i don't call 

She is indeed a golden spirit

Humble kind loving

I want her blue saree as a thotil saree for my grandkids. 

She buys me the best sarees you know

I am going to miss her so

Slowly pushing through 

The thoughts memories 

Making sense of our days with her

Now without her

Focusing on the happiness of her end

The joyful union

of her soul with the great soul

So these thoughts lift us from the gloom

Towards the day we remove the tubes

 I think  we never.        

a dream come true

Im in India now with aravith sir on tour

Just not me playing but my daughter dancing

I am so happy