With every beginning, there’s a corresponding end. Always I observe, before something –– that starts, something ends, before night trembles, twilight ceases, before it dawns the night has to melt; there’s always one side that has to lose hence the other side bags the victory.
Sun rises up, and sets in, some smile, some cry and some die but cosmos can’t care, and chirps are on even in the lowest of the low and never stop for deaths.
This rain is too ominous to be called ‘memorable’ in a sense, but we shall remember this rain always as a dark page of our chronicles. Plane crashed yesterday, a lot of people died, deaths everywhere, I see baleful darkness and reddest of the red –– blood, I hear the moans and cries of my people screaming out for their people, but death can’t care. And now, my friend, Bilal, he passed away a week ago, but I came to know about his demise now when the raindrops are striking the tin roof of the garage outside my window so hard that I can’t even concentrate what I’m thinking. I hate that noise; literally. Ill drops are descending the stairs everywhere, going low and low making me down and down. Every grief has its background music and vision. For me, it’s the noise of raindrops crashing on tin roof.
I am too confused and shocked to recall the memories of the moments that I spent with him in class. I don’t even know how he died; I just know that I lost someone, who used to sit beside me, who was with me when nobody was; there was a sparkle of loyalty in his eyes whenever he talked which I always overlooked, but that’s a stupid cliché I’d say. Because they say death makes a person more esteemed than ever. He was not my best friend and frankly I used to sit beside him only because he was always quiet and easy to endure. I am too low to write the memories. I feel too frail to type.
How is it like when you lose a friend, nobody taught me how to react. My parents never taught, my teachers never taught, they indeed taught me the ethics, algebra, physics but not about the death of a friend? They taught me about the every kind of losses in business. What about the loss of friend? Why did they not…? And today Bilal taught me through his demise that life… it is a fickle persistence, and death is blue abyss that is to be graced with our souls, death’s silence is heavy metal’s base, no one is to heal the death’s screams, no one is to stop it, it dances its way, away from cares, from the tears and the fears, life is a frail thread and death the robust string with a kite dancing in the skies too high in its folly, and it can’t be, no one can clip it to float it away. Death lies perfectly in life’s equation, he said. We won’t be ready and its manus will clutch us in, and will take our soul away from our dear and near ones leaving them with tears in their eyes and a corpse behind. Only tears… regrets and some memories that are too painful to recall.
And as Emily Dickinson would put in,
All but Death, can be Adjusted––
Dynasties repaired––
Systems –– settled in their Sockets––
Citadels –– dissolved––
Wastes of Lives –– resown with Colors
By Succeeding Springs––
Death –– unto itself –– Exception––
Is exempt from Change––
Sun rises up, and sets in, some smile, some cry and some die but cosmos can’t care, and chirps are on even in the lowest of the low and never stop for deaths.
This rain is too ominous to be called ‘memorable’ in a sense, but we shall remember this rain always as a dark page of our chronicles. Plane crashed yesterday, a lot of people died, deaths everywhere, I see baleful darkness and reddest of the red –– blood, I hear the moans and cries of my people screaming out for their people, but death can’t care. And now, my friend, Bilal, he passed away a week ago, but I came to know about his demise now when the raindrops are striking the tin roof of the garage outside my window so hard that I can’t even concentrate what I’m thinking. I hate that noise; literally. Ill drops are descending the stairs everywhere, going low and low making me down and down. Every grief has its background music and vision. For me, it’s the noise of raindrops crashing on tin roof.
I am too confused and shocked to recall the memories of the moments that I spent with him in class. I don’t even know how he died; I just know that I lost someone, who used to sit beside me, who was with me when nobody was; there was a sparkle of loyalty in his eyes whenever he talked which I always overlooked, but that’s a stupid cliché I’d say. Because they say death makes a person more esteemed than ever. He was not my best friend and frankly I used to sit beside him only because he was always quiet and easy to endure. I am too low to write the memories. I feel too frail to type.
How is it like when you lose a friend, nobody taught me how to react. My parents never taught, my teachers never taught, they indeed taught me the ethics, algebra, physics but not about the death of a friend? They taught me about the every kind of losses in business. What about the loss of friend? Why did they not…? And today Bilal taught me through his demise that life… it is a fickle persistence, and death is blue abyss that is to be graced with our souls, death’s silence is heavy metal’s base, no one is to heal the death’s screams, no one is to stop it, it dances its way, away from cares, from the tears and the fears, life is a frail thread and death the robust string with a kite dancing in the skies too high in its folly, and it can’t be, no one can clip it to float it away. Death lies perfectly in life’s equation, he said. We won’t be ready and its manus will clutch us in, and will take our soul away from our dear and near ones leaving them with tears in their eyes and a corpse behind. Only tears… regrets and some memories that are too painful to recall.
And as Emily Dickinson would put in,
All but Death, can be Adjusted––
Dynasties repaired––
Systems –– settled in their Sockets––
Citadels –– dissolved––
Wastes of Lives –– resown with Colors
By Succeeding Springs––
Death –– unto itself –– Exception––
Is exempt from Change––
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