Sunday Poem By Jhilam Adhikary

On my Small Grandfather’s death

Memories cursed me from a plate,

An inch of childhood,

That had nothing to do with him,

But childhood, so yes.

Not playful memories,

But a sudden regret

Of what I had then,

And lost casually.

He saw me as a child,

But couldn’t see me twenty.

Memories and the smell of cilantro,

The curry that we stopped eating,

With the warm rice that made me fat,

My house has changed a lot.

Things kept changing at a pace,

And one day, a little old man was gone.

Thatdeath bed I saw, was unexpected;

All my life I saw him half my size,

But always straight on his own feet,

Weak voice but very strong,

No support ever needed,

I loved playing with his bald head

And he had never complained.

I never ate anything in my grandfather’s house

Hardly touched anything,

And last year already,

The 2^nd day of Saraswati puja

His first death anniversary,

I regret not spending time with him

Not visiting him,

Not loving and playing with him,

Perhaps a few more pics if I had,

It would have helped me relax,

We are all mad, lazy, busy people,

Bad, uncaring people.

I should have written it down before,

The day I clicked pics with a dead body,

What was I doing?

Tearful eyes, silence, regret, guilt

Blank mind, forbidden penning,

And now I write,

When the pain has died down.

I look around, how normal things are,

Nothing of the chaos of that day,

Or night?

It was night when I returned home.

Ungrateful brat,

Cannot even write a poem for grandfather

Ungrateful brat,

Needs her friend’s grief to inspire her

Ungrateful brat,

Always late. Always.

But who cares?

He would have loved me anyways,

For he always did, still does.

I never touched his feet,

And he never hated me for that,

Yet my mother says,

He was a very old fashioned man.

Perhaps he was, but he loved me,

And now that he is gone,

Perhaps I know him and feel him more

For now I think of him

More than I ever did before.

Guilt is a strong reminder

Unforgivable remorse that stays,

Regret is there, it will always be

No shame in it,

No shade,

I have done wrong and I know it .

A few lines are too few to express it,

Guilt killing me

Hitting my heart and my head,

A story that ended too quickly,

My dead grandfather,

His empty house,

My memoriesand me.