I am told I was four
When you retired for your ultimate abode.
All I knew at the time
You had met your deadline
That gasped with divinity’s cue to lug you
Mulling the pallor on your face
The liturgies and everything rest,
I couldn’t fathom the agony
Then that brimmed the familial galaxy.
I am told you had a career trajectory
None like others at the time.
From India to Africa,
Your words gained such capita.
Revisiting the stills now
I realise how two writers were in the same frame that in reverence I bow.
Keen, I am to band with you, to rewind
the foxed body left behind.
Aakriti Sanghi is a restless sucker for life. She observes, analyses, and takes mental notes to serve something intellectually fresh each time, occasionally with a dash of humour too.
Featured image: Zahra Amiri / Unsplash