Subsistence

So in the end, you were reduced to a framed photo in the hall.
Time took your soft hand in his, and led you away.
An aching vacuum was all that was left.
That, and an irreplaceable absence on your side of the bed.

I open my eyes in the morning,
Your untouched glasses stare back at me from the bedside table.
I walk into the kitchen, and put the water to boil.
Your empty tea cup stares back at me.

As I step into the bathroom,
Your bristly old toothbrush sits beside mine.
Comforting, standing tall and stoic as always.
I gave you a hard time for not replacing them with new ones. I wonder why.

The batteries of the remote need replacing.
Sometimes it's the omnipresence of your absence,
And at others, it's a loose thread from your shirt on the sofa.
Little things that remind me of you.

They say it's time I cleared your wardrobe.
But even if I dust the very last stray thread off the sofa,
What about the consuming blanket of countless memories
That you've woven around my very being?

Even now, if I listen closely,
I can still hear your chappals echo down the verandah.
As you go to pick up the morning paper.
But today, I cannot hear the news headlines read out in your voice.

A modernist tribute

so much depends
upon

that one rainy
morning

when those white
chickens

came knocking at
my door.

Recipe for a Delicious Disaster

I know this is crazy.
But it is what's keeping me going
In this sporadic blizzard of empty, throbbing aches.
This dose of moronic insanity.

So here's the goddamn recipe.
A pinch of resolve, a dollop of hope, desire to taste.
And yes, while at it, shove that ego down the drain.
Also, this is when you toss in a bowl of belief into the batter.

Now a dash of courage sprinklings,
And a final garnish of spontaneity, to top it all.
Et Voilà! There's your incredible adventure. Let go.
So now you know why it's called a leap of faith.