these days

these days

my life reflects the season outside

the cold mornings and night
hurt fierce like your missing
while a deep serenity,
like the warmth of the winter’s sun,
fills up all the space in my chest.

we wake up at dawn
and visit the awakening ghat

as we sit listening to the sanskrit chants of your antyeṣṭi
my mind begins to find divinity
in the smell of incense that embraces the mist
in birds perched on wires, sunbathing
the kindhearted december sun
in diyas and flowers placed in leaf cups floating on the icy river

my edges feel softened
and i offer you my own humble shraddhanjali.

at home, i weave your memories with our everyday
make a twig-star for saanjh on christmas
gaze at your picture on the wall many times a day
light a diya of remembrance, every morning and dusk
make your favourite mithai again and again
smile often

.

i'll remember these days

. . .

tuesday nightfall
the twenty ninth
pauṣa