No, we die different deaths.
You take it lying down,
I take it while standing
With a glass of water in one
And your medicines in the other hand.
Watching you die, slowly, each day.
You soon will be relieved of the pain.
Mine is just about to begin.
You will leave your eyes open
For my last touch but I
Will have to shudder at the lost warmth.
I will have to shut the door on my face.
My wails will pass
Without disturbing your dead Brodmann.
But your silence will reverb under my skin
For eternity. Enerving the heart
That beat for you. Still.
Every day the diya will remind me
How the light of my life extinguished
When you burnt bright for the very last time.
Your insurance will ensure that I curse myself
As you had thought it through
And I had actually let you.
YOU ARE READING
TATA BI-BOI
PoetryThe poems span the time of identity crisis, exploration of my sexuality, self-acceptance, love, depression and healing.
