Everytime I stand here
In the embrace of the breeze
I feel on top of the world
And my heart overflows
With a joy and wonder afresh.
At the utmost fringes of my sight
The dim blue hills touch the skies
Tumbling clouds in bundles
Waltz away in the wind
Along the vast blue floor.
Tree tops beckon in every shade of green
Splendid spreads of sparkling hues in between
In humble pride they give way
To random steeples of iron and steel.
Beneath the leafy canopy
The entertainment of life goes on
In harmony and in discord
Man, beast and butterfly
Each its royal role enacts
In agony and in ecstasy.
It is just a patch of wonder
From the Great Painter’s canvas
And as I see the lone bird
Scanning the space with silver wings
My spirit flutters too
Like a bird against its bars
To sail out and soar to heights
And throb and breathe with the mighty.
[Inspired by the sight outside room no.56 on the top floor of the new wing at B.C.M College.]
Monday, August 31, 2009
AT TIRUNELVELI
The sun rushes home
Leaving to the lake its golden glory
The rocks stand dark and high
Proud guardians of the lovely landscape.
There is music in the wind
Fragrance in the air
The flowers flaunt their colours
Against a heavenly sky.
Like the soft petals of a blossoming bud
My heart unfolds to the beauty around
It floats like a feather
And sings a silent solo.
With you along it’s a duet
Of two souls in harmony.
I feel like a superstar
On this silver screen of beauty
Acting out the living script
Of our love story
Written in God’s own hand.
30th December 1994
Leaving to the lake its golden glory
The rocks stand dark and high
Proud guardians of the lovely landscape.
There is music in the wind
Fragrance in the air
The flowers flaunt their colours
Against a heavenly sky.
Like the soft petals of a blossoming bud
My heart unfolds to the beauty around
It floats like a feather
And sings a silent solo.
With you along it’s a duet
Of two souls in harmony.
I feel like a superstar
On this silver screen of beauty
Acting out the living script
Of our love story
Written in God’s own hand.
30th December 1994
POTTED PLANTS
I stand on the balcony of this sixth floor apartment
My little oasis - with a few potted plants
And a creeper that goes up a PVC pole.
I can read the yearning of these leaves
As they stretch out to embrace a sheet of bare sky
The blessing that comes between the concrete giants.
Floating clouds and flapping wings
Soft and amber hues of sunset
Air that throbs with music and fragrance
The feel of grass under the feet
The ring of rippling water in the ears
The taste of nature in every breath
Are all that I left behind
When they pulled me out and put me in this concrete pot.
I am showered with the water of love
And offered the best that life could afford
But I stand amidst these potted plants
Beaming with all the colours of spring
I share with them the pain and loss
Of amputated roots elsewhere.
My little oasis - with a few potted plants
And a creeper that goes up a PVC pole.
I can read the yearning of these leaves
As they stretch out to embrace a sheet of bare sky
The blessing that comes between the concrete giants.
Floating clouds and flapping wings
Soft and amber hues of sunset
Air that throbs with music and fragrance
The feel of grass under the feet
The ring of rippling water in the ears
The taste of nature in every breath
Are all that I left behind
When they pulled me out and put me in this concrete pot.
I am showered with the water of love
And offered the best that life could afford
But I stand amidst these potted plants
Beaming with all the colours of spring
I share with them the pain and loss
Of amputated roots elsewhere.
THE MULBERRY BUSH
First came the clouds
And then the rain
Piloted by the swirling winds.
The sky sulked
As the wind tossed the trees.
They swayed and stooped
And begged to the relentless rain.
Some fell, some leaned or lay prostrate
My mulberry bush, it shook and shivered
Its tender leaves took the heavy drops
And let it down the earth to drown.
What held you up when the mighty fell? I asked.
The silent answer came
My heart holds on to my roots
That always heads towards the center - The Life.
And then the rain
Piloted by the swirling winds.
The sky sulked
As the wind tossed the trees.
They swayed and stooped
And begged to the relentless rain.
Some fell, some leaned or lay prostrate
My mulberry bush, it shook and shivered
Its tender leaves took the heavy drops
And let it down the earth to drown.
What held you up when the mighty fell? I asked.
The silent answer came
My heart holds on to my roots
That always heads towards the center - The Life.
MY FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY
1997.
I turned fifty in June this year.
They say the fiftieth birthday is a great day in one’s life and needs to be celebrated.
Well, my great day did not turn out the way I thought it would.
To be frank I am a very sensitive and sentimental creature. I depend a lot on the love, care and concern of those I love - especially my family. They too know it.
That is why they make it a point to have dinner outside on my birthday every year. They don’t care much for hotel food. But they know I love it. Actually it is not the food. It is a real luxury not to worry about the menu, about the cooking and above all the washing and the cleaning. Now, as this dining out has become routine on my birthdays, what I enjoy most is the thought behind it.
I had a feeling that my fiftieth birthday was going to be an extra-grand affair. But I knew it wouldn’t be. My husband happened to be in Madras with a very busy schedule of dubbing and editing his latest film. My sons Bobby and Sanjay had to appear for different entrance exams that day - one for his M.D and the other for U.G.C. They would leave early in the morning and would be back only late. That left my daughter Thankam, my maid and myself at home to celebrate the “grand”day. No fun, no music, no dining out.
I went to bed the previous day quite depressed. I thought this was going to be the dullest day in my life. After supper I left the others watching some late programme on TV. Sadly and slowly I slipped into slumber.
The telephone woke me up early morning. It was my husband who never bothered to get up earlier than 9 o’clock on a Sunday morning. “Hello”, he said “Happy Birthday”.
I wanted to sulk. But he had really gone out of the way to be the first one to wish me. I shouldn’t.
“Not so happy without you around.” I said.
“You know I couldn’t help it. Now, what’s special today?”
“Nothing - with nobody at home.”
He could read my tone. “We are postponing the celebration to a combined one next month, okay?” he assured. His birthday fell in July.
As I walked into the kitchen, the aroma of a freshly baked cake seeped into my nostrils. There it stood on the dining table with the white butter cream telling me “Happy Birthday Darling Amma” against a dark chocolate icing! It was Thankam’s surprise for me. She had made it herself with the aid of the maid after making sure I had gone to sleep. Later she told me how she had closed all the doors leading to my room, and that it was all over only by 2 a.m. My heart went out to her. I sneaked into her room. She was in deep sleep. I planted a kiss on her forehead.
Sanjay had to catch an early train. After dropping him at the station, Bobby offered to take me to my parents on a flash visit before he left. It was as though he had read my mind. It was just a 20-minute drive and I always made it a point to visit them on my birthday every year. I was wondering if I could make it this year. The offer came like a birthday gift.
Back home, with Bobby also gone, I drifted slowly into the silent hours of a dull Sunday when the telephone rang. A totally unexpected call from an old student of mine. She introduced herself to me and told that she was now working for Doordarshan. Then she asked me if she could interview me for one of her T.V programmes.
“Doordarshan?…and me?” Public performances embarrass me. But still I felt flattered and important. It was not the publicity part of it but the awareness that she thought me good enough for her purpose. [To this day I do not know when it was telecast. I didn’t ask her when it would be - because I couldn’t gather the guts to watch it with the feeling that hundreds might be watching it along with me elsewhere.] Thankam too got excited and started lecturing me on what I should wear and how I should fare.
Another unusual thing that happened on that day was an unprecedented number of phone calls from my students. They all called to wish me on my birthday. The usual calls from friends and relatives I could understand. But I don’t know how they got the wind of it. It was really a heartening experience!
The interviewers came and I went. I don’t know how I fared. Before I was out of its impact the doorbell rang. “From your husband in Madras”, a courier stood before me with a cute little parcel.
I opened it. In disbelief I looked at the beautiful HMT watch with its beautiful golden strap. Even I wasn’t aware of my secret wish for a watch like that until I saw it. How did he know?
The evening was busy. My in-laws close by called in for a casual visit. They were all praise for Thankam’s cake and their greetings came like a bonus.
There was so much warmth and affection surrounding me from far and near that day. As I got into bed that night I suddenly realized that I didn’t get any time at all that day to entertain my anticipated depression.
It was a great day indeed!
I turned fifty in June this year.
They say the fiftieth birthday is a great day in one’s life and needs to be celebrated.
Well, my great day did not turn out the way I thought it would.
To be frank I am a very sensitive and sentimental creature. I depend a lot on the love, care and concern of those I love - especially my family. They too know it.
That is why they make it a point to have dinner outside on my birthday every year. They don’t care much for hotel food. But they know I love it. Actually it is not the food. It is a real luxury not to worry about the menu, about the cooking and above all the washing and the cleaning. Now, as this dining out has become routine on my birthdays, what I enjoy most is the thought behind it.
I had a feeling that my fiftieth birthday was going to be an extra-grand affair. But I knew it wouldn’t be. My husband happened to be in Madras with a very busy schedule of dubbing and editing his latest film. My sons Bobby and Sanjay had to appear for different entrance exams that day - one for his M.D and the other for U.G.C. They would leave early in the morning and would be back only late. That left my daughter Thankam, my maid and myself at home to celebrate the “grand”day. No fun, no music, no dining out.
I went to bed the previous day quite depressed. I thought this was going to be the dullest day in my life. After supper I left the others watching some late programme on TV. Sadly and slowly I slipped into slumber.
The telephone woke me up early morning. It was my husband who never bothered to get up earlier than 9 o’clock on a Sunday morning. “Hello”, he said “Happy Birthday”.
I wanted to sulk. But he had really gone out of the way to be the first one to wish me. I shouldn’t.
“Not so happy without you around.” I said.
“You know I couldn’t help it. Now, what’s special today?”
“Nothing - with nobody at home.”
He could read my tone. “We are postponing the celebration to a combined one next month, okay?” he assured. His birthday fell in July.
As I walked into the kitchen, the aroma of a freshly baked cake seeped into my nostrils. There it stood on the dining table with the white butter cream telling me “Happy Birthday Darling Amma” against a dark chocolate icing! It was Thankam’s surprise for me. She had made it herself with the aid of the maid after making sure I had gone to sleep. Later she told me how she had closed all the doors leading to my room, and that it was all over only by 2 a.m. My heart went out to her. I sneaked into her room. She was in deep sleep. I planted a kiss on her forehead.
Sanjay had to catch an early train. After dropping him at the station, Bobby offered to take me to my parents on a flash visit before he left. It was as though he had read my mind. It was just a 20-minute drive and I always made it a point to visit them on my birthday every year. I was wondering if I could make it this year. The offer came like a birthday gift.
Back home, with Bobby also gone, I drifted slowly into the silent hours of a dull Sunday when the telephone rang. A totally unexpected call from an old student of mine. She introduced herself to me and told that she was now working for Doordarshan. Then she asked me if she could interview me for one of her T.V programmes.
“Doordarshan?…and me?” Public performances embarrass me. But still I felt flattered and important. It was not the publicity part of it but the awareness that she thought me good enough for her purpose. [To this day I do not know when it was telecast. I didn’t ask her when it would be - because I couldn’t gather the guts to watch it with the feeling that hundreds might be watching it along with me elsewhere.] Thankam too got excited and started lecturing me on what I should wear and how I should fare.
Another unusual thing that happened on that day was an unprecedented number of phone calls from my students. They all called to wish me on my birthday. The usual calls from friends and relatives I could understand. But I don’t know how they got the wind of it. It was really a heartening experience!
The interviewers came and I went. I don’t know how I fared. Before I was out of its impact the doorbell rang. “From your husband in Madras”, a courier stood before me with a cute little parcel.
I opened it. In disbelief I looked at the beautiful HMT watch with its beautiful golden strap. Even I wasn’t aware of my secret wish for a watch like that until I saw it. How did he know?
The evening was busy. My in-laws close by called in for a casual visit. They were all praise for Thankam’s cake and their greetings came like a bonus.
There was so much warmth and affection surrounding me from far and near that day. As I got into bed that night I suddenly realized that I didn’t get any time at all that day to entertain my anticipated depression.
It was a great day indeed!
GOOD BYE SWEET MOTHER
Mother Teresa died at the ripe old age of 87 on the 5th of September 1997.
She had been through the throes of so many ailments for the last few years. She had been pulled back from the gates of death so many times. Everybody knew the end would come any time.
Yet, for me, the news came like a bolt of thunder from a clear blue sky. The untimely death of Princess Diana of Wales and all the stories that followed was the sensation of that week. I too, like many, didn’t want to miss any of it and sat glued to the television that Friday night when the BBC jerked out with “we have just heard that Mother Teresa has died. Please stay with us till we confirm the news.”
As the reality of the news seeped into me what surged inside was a deep feeling of guilt - and anger - towards myself.
Mother Teresa is the only human idol I have had in my life. She became my idol from the very first time I heard about her. If there was one human being I yearned to see in my life it was she. I have wished a thousand times secretly and aloud to be able to go to Calcutta just to see her, stand beside her and touch her if possible. But there were always excuses for not going. Now, with deep regret, I realize the injustice I have done to myself. I could, if I really wanted it, afford the money and the time to make a journey up to Calcutta. I have lost the chance of that fulfillment forever.
Everytime I heard that she was ill a strong and sincere prayer went up to God to spare her for us…and I know the whole world prayed with me. The world needed her very badly. Even her presence on T.V had a spiritual serenity that overpowered me-and I am sure it was not my experience alone.
The power that made Mother a miracle was her faith. She had infinite faith in goodness. She herself was the embodiment of goodness. But she believed that goodness was latent even in the hardest of hearts. With this faith of hers she moved millions around the globe.
She was the embodiment of love. She loved Jesus above all and saw Jesus in the poor, the sick and the lonely. She showed supreme loyalty to her Lord and Master. Nothing inhibited her. With that real dedication she worked wonders. With only five rupees and a heart full of human kindness and love Mother set out to the slums and gutters of Calcutta and gave it in abundance to those who needed it. Her belief, her action and her prayer was all of a piece. Doing unto others she acted her way into prayer…and praying she believed her way into action. I don’t think she ever believed in speeches. But when she spoke, her words were very simple and direct. She was always brief but invariably she spoke of love and service and penetrated people with the sharpness of her conviction.
Mother had not the glamour of beauty, the halo of royalty or the magic of fantasy about her. She never asked for the name and fame that came after her. But the small and frail figure of this weak old lady carried within her the tremendous strength of pure goodness and godly love. She proved to us goodness and love never go out of fashion. Her very presence was purifying and people could not but bow their heads to it.
Her selflessness held back prejudices of all kinds - social, political or religious - and made her the beloved of all races, faiths and parties. She was a candle that burned with a steady flame in a stormy world. Mother is gone but the fire of that candle has poured itself to many little candles all over the world.
This is only a shadow of what I feel in my heart. I could go on endlessly about this beloved person who was so real and so close to my heart though I haven’t seen her even once. She was sent specially to us from heaven to teach us once more the lesson of love - the lesson number one to turn this world into a haven of peace and joy.
Mother, my soul is on my knees at your memory, would ever be. Now as I look back at a dream that would never be realized for me, I have to console myself with the thought that I lived while you lived, under the same blue sky watching the same moon and the same stars that you have watched - at least fifty years of my life.
She had been through the throes of so many ailments for the last few years. She had been pulled back from the gates of death so many times. Everybody knew the end would come any time.
Yet, for me, the news came like a bolt of thunder from a clear blue sky. The untimely death of Princess Diana of Wales and all the stories that followed was the sensation of that week. I too, like many, didn’t want to miss any of it and sat glued to the television that Friday night when the BBC jerked out with “we have just heard that Mother Teresa has died. Please stay with us till we confirm the news.”
As the reality of the news seeped into me what surged inside was a deep feeling of guilt - and anger - towards myself.
Mother Teresa is the only human idol I have had in my life. She became my idol from the very first time I heard about her. If there was one human being I yearned to see in my life it was she. I have wished a thousand times secretly and aloud to be able to go to Calcutta just to see her, stand beside her and touch her if possible. But there were always excuses for not going. Now, with deep regret, I realize the injustice I have done to myself. I could, if I really wanted it, afford the money and the time to make a journey up to Calcutta. I have lost the chance of that fulfillment forever.
Everytime I heard that she was ill a strong and sincere prayer went up to God to spare her for us…and I know the whole world prayed with me. The world needed her very badly. Even her presence on T.V had a spiritual serenity that overpowered me-and I am sure it was not my experience alone.
The power that made Mother a miracle was her faith. She had infinite faith in goodness. She herself was the embodiment of goodness. But she believed that goodness was latent even in the hardest of hearts. With this faith of hers she moved millions around the globe.
She was the embodiment of love. She loved Jesus above all and saw Jesus in the poor, the sick and the lonely. She showed supreme loyalty to her Lord and Master. Nothing inhibited her. With that real dedication she worked wonders. With only five rupees and a heart full of human kindness and love Mother set out to the slums and gutters of Calcutta and gave it in abundance to those who needed it. Her belief, her action and her prayer was all of a piece. Doing unto others she acted her way into prayer…and praying she believed her way into action. I don’t think she ever believed in speeches. But when she spoke, her words were very simple and direct. She was always brief but invariably she spoke of love and service and penetrated people with the sharpness of her conviction.
Mother had not the glamour of beauty, the halo of royalty or the magic of fantasy about her. She never asked for the name and fame that came after her. But the small and frail figure of this weak old lady carried within her the tremendous strength of pure goodness and godly love. She proved to us goodness and love never go out of fashion. Her very presence was purifying and people could not but bow their heads to it.
Her selflessness held back prejudices of all kinds - social, political or religious - and made her the beloved of all races, faiths and parties. She was a candle that burned with a steady flame in a stormy world. Mother is gone but the fire of that candle has poured itself to many little candles all over the world.
This is only a shadow of what I feel in my heart. I could go on endlessly about this beloved person who was so real and so close to my heart though I haven’t seen her even once. She was sent specially to us from heaven to teach us once more the lesson of love - the lesson number one to turn this world into a haven of peace and joy.
Mother, my soul is on my knees at your memory, would ever be. Now as I look back at a dream that would never be realized for me, I have to console myself with the thought that I lived while you lived, under the same blue sky watching the same moon and the same stars that you have watched - at least fifty years of my life.
IF WORDS COULD SPEAK
If it is money, power or physical stature that makes a man significant - well, this is the story of a very insignificant man, because he had none of these. He was a small man, he ignored power or position and he was penniless when he died.
But he died in the luxury of love. His investment of selflessness and sacrifice doubled and redoubled in the hearts where he had deposited them. He himself was a bank officer who advised his customers to save for the future. He had not much to save. Whatever he had was spent on those he loved. It looked stupid and reckless to some. When he was told once that parenthood was eventually a thankless job, his retort was to deserve it first.
He deserved it to the full. He had not much to give his dear ones in the form of money or materials. But he loved them to a capacity beyond imagination. By being a loving person himself he taught his children how to love. He sustained that warmth of love about him till the last moment of his life. He taught them integrity by being a trustworthy person-by facing life’s griefs and pains without being broken by them. He convinced them that life was for growing, and all experiences, good or bad, can be useful in that growth.
Work for him was not just a means of making a life materially. It was also a way of making life meaningful. His children took it as a legacy from him. The waxing and waning of work in his office was sensed by his family. They always knew when the stresses and the strains came. At the end of every financial year, when accounts tallied and closed on the 31st of March, the whole family would heave a sigh of relief. Significantly he closed the accounts of his life also on the 31st of March 1998.
His affections were not confined. Cousins, nephews, nieces and friends basked in his love. He was concerned about all. He offered a gentle hand and loving touch to all those who visited, which made a small house seem a big one. They were moved not by the style or show but by the climate of his heart…and so they came often.
With silent dignity and invisible courage he faced the crises of his life. There were many, when life seemed to be at a dead end. The bank he worked for was liquidated, he lost his job, and there were no savings to fall back upon. The struggle was hard. But he made the fight and carried on the duty of raising his children. He did it with patience and self-sacrifice which held nothing back for himself…not even the solace of sharing his anxieties with us.
He was gentle to the core. His children cannot remember a single incident when he lost his temper.. and in return for all that they tried never to hurt him. He was old and sick .It was the most natural thing for him to be irritable and complaining. But even when he knew the end was near he was unnaturally and admirably brave, calm and pleasant. What bothered him most was the thought that he would become a burden to others in his weakness.
The fact was we vied to be at his beck and call.
His family consisted of his wife and four children. Each one believed his or herself to be his favourite. There were hard times in their growing up. But they were happy times too, because of him. Simple surprise gifts, short picnics, encouraging words and acts of compliment-there are so many that will be forever etched and treasured in their memories. He could not always afford to take them out to movies or journeys. Instead, he opened to them the world of books and literature which has now become a way of life for them. He kept them busy and interested with card games, riddles and puzzles. When he was there to lead, polishing furniture and weeding the vegetable garden was like a family entertainment. An old biscuit tin, sealed around, with a slit on top was the common money bank to which they all contributed their little mites. It always took a long time to be full. Opening it at last was a ceremony and a celebration. No book need tell them that the poor have their pure and simple joys.
As they grew up, there was nothing they did not share with him. Hopes and fears, events and achievements, friends at college, the books they loved - he knew everything about them. They were given lot of freedom which they never misused .He had absolute trust in them.
He was so proud of his children. Every progress they made, big or small, thrilled him. This love and pride and concern never stopped. It flowed on to their spouses and their children. They in turn loved and respected him. He was a special grandfather who will always be remembered with deep fondness.
I shall forever be proud of this man. He was my father. Being his firstborn I had the longest term of love with him. But Daddy is no more. With him gone, I know I will never be the same again. Time might dull the pangs of pain that trigger tears at every memory now. Life might slowly come back to its normal course. I might work steadily and even laugh heartily again. But I know something for sure.. a part of me lies buried with him. The loss will be felt forever.
But he died in the luxury of love. His investment of selflessness and sacrifice doubled and redoubled in the hearts where he had deposited them. He himself was a bank officer who advised his customers to save for the future. He had not much to save. Whatever he had was spent on those he loved. It looked stupid and reckless to some. When he was told once that parenthood was eventually a thankless job, his retort was to deserve it first.
He deserved it to the full. He had not much to give his dear ones in the form of money or materials. But he loved them to a capacity beyond imagination. By being a loving person himself he taught his children how to love. He sustained that warmth of love about him till the last moment of his life. He taught them integrity by being a trustworthy person-by facing life’s griefs and pains without being broken by them. He convinced them that life was for growing, and all experiences, good or bad, can be useful in that growth.
Work for him was not just a means of making a life materially. It was also a way of making life meaningful. His children took it as a legacy from him. The waxing and waning of work in his office was sensed by his family. They always knew when the stresses and the strains came. At the end of every financial year, when accounts tallied and closed on the 31st of March, the whole family would heave a sigh of relief. Significantly he closed the accounts of his life also on the 31st of March 1998.
His affections were not confined. Cousins, nephews, nieces and friends basked in his love. He was concerned about all. He offered a gentle hand and loving touch to all those who visited, which made a small house seem a big one. They were moved not by the style or show but by the climate of his heart…and so they came often.
With silent dignity and invisible courage he faced the crises of his life. There were many, when life seemed to be at a dead end. The bank he worked for was liquidated, he lost his job, and there were no savings to fall back upon. The struggle was hard. But he made the fight and carried on the duty of raising his children. He did it with patience and self-sacrifice which held nothing back for himself…not even the solace of sharing his anxieties with us.
He was gentle to the core. His children cannot remember a single incident when he lost his temper.. and in return for all that they tried never to hurt him. He was old and sick .It was the most natural thing for him to be irritable and complaining. But even when he knew the end was near he was unnaturally and admirably brave, calm and pleasant. What bothered him most was the thought that he would become a burden to others in his weakness.
The fact was we vied to be at his beck and call.
His family consisted of his wife and four children. Each one believed his or herself to be his favourite. There were hard times in their growing up. But they were happy times too, because of him. Simple surprise gifts, short picnics, encouraging words and acts of compliment-there are so many that will be forever etched and treasured in their memories. He could not always afford to take them out to movies or journeys. Instead, he opened to them the world of books and literature which has now become a way of life for them. He kept them busy and interested with card games, riddles and puzzles. When he was there to lead, polishing furniture and weeding the vegetable garden was like a family entertainment. An old biscuit tin, sealed around, with a slit on top was the common money bank to which they all contributed their little mites. It always took a long time to be full. Opening it at last was a ceremony and a celebration. No book need tell them that the poor have their pure and simple joys.
As they grew up, there was nothing they did not share with him. Hopes and fears, events and achievements, friends at college, the books they loved - he knew everything about them. They were given lot of freedom which they never misused .He had absolute trust in them.
He was so proud of his children. Every progress they made, big or small, thrilled him. This love and pride and concern never stopped. It flowed on to their spouses and their children. They in turn loved and respected him. He was a special grandfather who will always be remembered with deep fondness.
I shall forever be proud of this man. He was my father. Being his firstborn I had the longest term of love with him. But Daddy is no more. With him gone, I know I will never be the same again. Time might dull the pangs of pain that trigger tears at every memory now. Life might slowly come back to its normal course. I might work steadily and even laugh heartily again. But I know something for sure.. a part of me lies buried with him. The loss will be felt forever.
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