This too will pass...right?

 

How quickly the day passes, even without you,

away from your presence, like an exile alone

the weight of memory’s the weight of your bones

as light as a flake of ash, as easily blown

off with the lightest of puffs. Outside, the curfew

is a beast poised to spring. The hours are a dark spell.

The phone won’t stop ringing. I tell them, I’m well.

 

This too will pass, right? How quickly the day passes!

You’re memory of memory - your teacup was still there

unwashed with the dregs. The comb with your tangled hair.

Life’s just a banyan with its roots probing the air.

That morning you drank tea. Nightfall, you were ashes.

They ask how? and why? how will I be? what will I do?

I tell them it’s okay. That I’ll cope. Without you.