In memory of my dear friend Dwarak. Old soul, too young to care, passed on a week ago. Here it is, Dwarak, our song:
We are back to the top of our windmill. World in our hands. We brush away our mutual cobwebs. You made it first. Selfless friendship, that’s your mark.
“How often should one recall an earlier love?
Enough! I will not spare anymore of my days,
Nor one more pint of my heart’s blood.”
Saying like this, I rummaged through
My earlier memories,
Looking for a reason
To feel unloved.
Spring came and left,
Arrivals and departures shed their novelty.
Summer is here again.
Seeing me flush, seeing me blush,
They smile, my old friends
My still friends.
“How often will you recall an earlier love?”
Saying like this,
They spare me a kiss now and then.
Thus I crawl from one doorstep to another.
Waiting for the Death,
Hoping it will show up when I sleep.
