Faith

Years evanesce
and it took me by surprise, this
buried memory of things
I heard you say upon a day
much less diminished.

We
knew each other for neither
asking nor acknowledging, but
for an unspoken assurance
of constancy,
but once,
this one act
eclipsed the peak of all prominence
my surroundings ever deemed I achieved,
you acknowledged the words I put in writing…
MY words, strung to mimic
the meanderings of a resentful mind
and the current of crumbling ideals and dissolving truths.

Not knowing what to expect and
least expecting what was received,
I walled the self aside,
not knowing what to show, no,
afraid of too much to show, the half-hearted manner
likely made it seem
that your recognition
didn’t amount to much…
in hindsight,
it’s likely how a hollow world
of chance, imbalance, and self-absorbed disinterest,
treated you,
your aspirations,
your talents, dreams,
your own victories, or whenever
you tried to set your best self forward
– all met with that deafening silence of inconsequence.

But you
repeated yourself again that day, then,
and now,
with an unfathomable distance between us,
with roles and circuits set in stone,
when I find it exhausting to believe in myself,
I remember
that you did.
So… here I arrive again,
repeating an unfailing orbit
at failing intervals.

Elitist Listener

Is finding
music
that, for a long
few minutes,
fills
the hollows…
that
one cannot
touch – inside…
enough
of a reason
to stay
alive?

   
There are
many
more important
ones, where
the well-being
of another
becomes
of more
consequence
to you, than your own.

   
Perhaps
a child, for whom
his Dad
gave up his drugs
and
worked hard
to give the delinquent
an education.

   
Or a personal purpose,
as a brilliant and unsuccessful doctor
rereading repurchased books
of Pathology,
to redress
an age neglected,
in the waning hope
of restoring
an out-of-reach laboratory,
and dying
of a heart attack
at forty-nine,
confused.. and alone..
while
the kid, now a man, the
one thing
he wholeheartedly cherished…
was out
making money
somewhere in the big fucking city!

   
For those
who do not believe
in fairy tales
and have seen their share
of futile trial
and cruel death,
it suffices to say
that
they often find
little reason to feel
that reality
was ever directed
toward
anything good,
and… eventually has
no meaning, other
than sadder memories.

   
And
in this capricious state
of the definite
and oncoming nature
of unpredictable
and irrevocable loss..
perhaps,
discovering pointless music
that makes you think
such pointless thoughts,
is as good a reason as any… for
lingering, pathetically, here.

   
For all reason,
in time,
disappears..
in one inescapable vacuum..
and is rendered
unknown,
unknowable,
null
and
void.

   
While the ravages
of mortality
tend
to take the shine
away
from dreams,
it is, or still feels
wrong
to take
one’s own life,
as long
as there are those you’d hurt,
were you
to simply
go away.

   
Someone
had once
asked
my father
what he wanted
his son
to be, when I
grew up.
To this,
the M.D. Pathologist
replied:
“Alive and Happy”
…and that
is what I’ll
try…
to be.

 

 

From Book IV

The Magic Man

Mr Banerjee _Edited

July 13.
It’s already
been
a month, and
today
is still…
your birthday.

   

You know…?

   

for a few
grey weeks,
I’ve been writing
for you.

   

   

   

I never
told you, but
I used to
think, when I
was little, that you
would be the grand nemesis
I would oppose
when I grew up.

   

But
somehow,
as I grew taller
midst the fall of our guardians,
you found
their secret..
and became
their last.

   

And
taught,
by your own example,
that human beings
are capable
of magic… of good… of change.

 

 

 

From Book IV