In Your Loving Memory

The clouds seem to gently gather above; thin, 

silver wisps of ethereal grace following an invisible path. 

An ephemeral spectacle upon an eternal sky 

consoling my weary soul of this transient life; 

beautiful and fleeting, like my memories of you. 

I remember emotions swirling inside me, 

like springtime moths trapped in a paper lantern 

struggling to find a space before they burned, 

before the flames they fancied, flickered out; 

before the sun rose to mock my fragile desires. 

But I was never afraid to face the day. 

It was just a tedious routine to get by. 

A part of the giant machine exercising its role. 

No different than my heart pumping blood, 

or my mouth spewing nonsense at you. 

There was a time when I would complain 

like a disillusioned fanatic discovering the truth 

when I saw you at your most vulnerable. 

Crying, screaming, rageful against the world; 

cursing and nursing your indomitable self. 

I would often see you consumed and tormented 

by the cracked walls and quiet rooms. 

While those rented apartments with no water 

compelled you to collect your happiness and sorrows; 

each ounce saved in pots, pans, and porcelain teacups. 

The unwavering seasons failed you 

time and again; they were never honest. 

Scheming plans to seize you away, 

disguised as merciful wings to carry your burdens; 

to never let you feel lost in despair again. 

Now here I am, left alone to play with these memories, 

while I try to understand my being through you. 

Yet, amidst these dissonant tunes of love and loss, 

a singular moment unravels to remind me, 

like an echo held between the palms of my hands— 

A dressing table, an ornate stand for your bangles, 

a box filled with curlers, hair pins and hopes. 

Wooden closets that kept your sarees and secrets, 

wedding threads tied around your fleeting dreams, 

and vermilion dust upon your forehead and floor.