By Krittika Banerjee
Grief is a fickle beast
On some days
It presses down on my chest
Like a thousand mountains
An unyielding weight
That leaves me gasping for breath.
The plant by the windowsill withers away
As night slips into day.
Every muscle in my body aches to rise,
But with the force of gravity,
It drags me back inside.
With every cell, I brace for a fight
Am I utterly powerless against its might?
Its claws gnaw deep into the crevices of my mind,
No hope and light in sight.
Funny thing is,
The moment I stop wrestling
And look it in the eye,
I realise it’s nothing
But love disguised.
Like a cranky baby,
It relentlessly screams:
“Love was here.
It still is.”
So, I cradle it in my arms,
Nurture it on my chest,
Close to my heart,
Let it rest its head.
Bolt open the doors,
Walk out in the sun,
And slowly it softens
Its dark eyes brighten.
To say that you may have left,
But your love remained
It still runs through me like the river,
No matter how far you are.
Remember the songs you sang for me
On our Sunday morning rides on your scooter?
When I was a little girl, all of five,
Standing behind the handlebar?
The songs still go on and on
As lullabies to your grandson.
As I scan his little face
For any glimpse of you.
His eyes are just like yours,
And they seem to light up
When I tell him stories of a granddad
Who still loves him to the moon and back.
Because love like ours
Doesn’t just disappear.
No matter where you are,
It will always hold us together.