A Vestige of the Moon

A year to the day, your presence remains deeply felt;
there had been much to say, when you tiptoed and left.

Those foreign moments, in more ways than one,
still occupy my thoughts, and my emotions overcome.

Miles away I was, longing to tend your side,
but astute in loss, my anguish I did hide.

And then that timeless hour, when the world stood still,
weeping by the shower, my sobs pierced the night’s tranquil.

You’d think you’d know, how you would manage,
the impending blow, the arriving carnage …

But enough of the sobering end. The phoenix’s fire,
doesn’t portend, that which its presence did transpire.

Amidst the meaningless noise, amidst the incessant chatter,
his was the only voice, that didn’t seek to flatter.

Oft did his eyes speak, cutting through the mundanity,
in a tongue quaintly sweet, of tales, of dusk, of humanity.

They say that time, adds a coat of gloss,
makes mortals divine, by virtue of their loss.

But I write not of greatness. I extol not his ambition.
I write of prudent guidance. Of quiet compassion.

For this soft mannered man, we have deeply cared,
but now that he is gone, in his spirit let us bask, let us share.

5 years on. Sharing multiplies joy and divides grief. Thank you Amanu Thatha.

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