Death,
You pass me many times in my life.
In the quiet fading of my grandmas and grandpas,
in mamas and chithappas whose presence once filled our homes,
in the neighbour who waved every morning,
in distant relatives whose names I almost forgot.
You arrive through my friend’s father,
a friend’s mother,
my teacher who shaped our minds,
a preacher who told stories of life.
Through soldiers, activists, martyrs—
lives spent like bright flames.
Through criminals and drug addicts,
lost souls and quiet casualties,
The innocents who trapped in middle of the war,
where you chase them with a agony starvation and poverty.
Through the pet that waited for me at the gate,
and the street lives we walked past each day.
Even the parents of our teenage crush
whose name we never learned.
And my friend who shared our birthdays with.
Each time you appear,
I learn.
I bend, but do not break.
I gather small stones of strength
and build ourselves again.
Slowly I become the one
who can console others,
who can say,
“I have stood in this shadow before.”
Yet when you stand before me once more,
even for a heartbeat,
you may stop me.
You may bring back the ache,
the questions,
the vast uncertainties.
But you also make us older in spirit,
gentler in our living,
clearer in our choices.
You remind us what truly matters,
what must be held close,
and what can be let go.
You are a strange, astonishing phenomenon—
a teacher I never wanted,
yet one who shapes us
into who we must be.
While waiting outside thinking about priorities
Sikaran
24th November 25
