An Elegy Half at the Most 

Most nights I think,

Not about the world or the word. 

And neither about myself. 

Most nights, I think of you. 

The only one who has ever completed me. 

Poor old dog, old me. 

It is true that I have lived my life in a strange manner. 

Two of my feet in two different streams. 

Half here, half there, and yet complete nowhere. 

What was missing was a link, 

to bind my two forked hands into one. 

I was younger, and unrooted, 

rebellious and rambunctious. 

A mark of youthful will, 

When my tousled hair was raven still. 

Fear not, I lived a happy man. 

Though I had seen loneliness. 

And I had tasted the garrot meant for my wounds, 

the metallic taste of blackened blood 

Resonating long after time staggered on. 

And it is true, I may not have been the most gentlemanly of the lot. 

Heaven knows I have much to learn about the world. 

And truly a man is lucky to have second chances in life. 

When I came of age, I tried being a man earning my keep. 

I did not know how to farm, nor how to fight. 

The events of my story, you see, preclude softness. 

Not the kind that squirms in the face of the blackened dog. 

But that was when I was with youthful will, 

When my tousled hair was raven still. 

For later, the strangeness emboldened; I embraced the softness I once rued. I sang and proclaimed my fate, my tunes, my desires. 

At the prayer halls of poetic mischief, and through children asking, “when were you ever young?!”, I drank from the lyrical horns, 

That had not yet tasted tar and rust.

Fate as would have it, 

Today, I am no longer here and no longer there. 

Of course, even though you had left, you held me true here. Helped me to run. 

So, I learnt that even halved, I am completely whole. 

The marks on my legs prove this fact. 

Now, two half-circles combine whole. 

The circle’s nature, 

Forever here and forever there. 

When you had gone far away from me, you inevitably took half of my heart. But years from now, when I will bid goodbye at the end of the pier, I will weep. 

And yet you will keep… 

…all of me. 

In my dreams I see, 

A lifetime ago in Samarkand, my memory persists. 

When we promised a promise that never came true. 

We never kept fighting on. 

If only… 

Such is life when you are young, with energy and youthful will, When your tousled hair was raven still.

Time is a Chord 

In the summer bed, I lied beside her once more. 

Nearly twenty years since the last time. 

Grown man, yes, but her child, just the same. 

I remember when she was young, with her flowing black hair in the wind. My dear father, beside her. Those moments seem like centuries ago now. 

And though I don't remember this, she lost her parents young. Yet, she resolved to be my constant light. 

So, we kept talking in the summer bed. 

“And do you remember when your father went to the hospital? That mangy dog ‘cancer’ ate all his hair out! How bald he looked!” 

A child left behind. Merely thirteen. 

She was devastated, and yet she raised that child alone. 

The grey seeped in her hair a good few years earlier than she deserved them. 

That child of yesterday is grown now. But how do I tell her that so has the sadness? And though I did not understand then, 

her frequent trips to the hospital, 

and to still return at night to put me to bed, 

was far more than her tiny body could ever handle. Yet she was there. 

I think… 

I understand now. 

Then, when I had to leave for college, that now grey haired woman packed my bags all by herself. It was his anniversary. 

Eight years since she became my only light. 

That day, I saw her holding a photo. Me, her, and dad out in the park. 

I was young enough to sit on his shoulders, then. Before high definition appeared on film. How happy we all were. 

I want to ask, 

If she misses him still. 

But of course she does. I'm stupid. 

I end up asking if she is okay, instead. 

She simply turns to me, and suddenly I see the young woman again. 

“You have not packed well enough, silly!”, she says, and swiftly leaves for my winter clothes. Not caring she will remain alone after I am gone, too.

There is pain there, I think. 

But also a bravery— 

The likes of which I may never know.