You would have been fifty this year,
Blowing out candles on a giant cake,
Surrounded by all near and dear
Instead, this year’s gift is heartache.
Empty party halls and wishes,
imagining age on your face
is it lined with deep creases
but still full of grace?
Would time have cooled that temper,
or would it still spark but burn quickly?
Could you have learned to speak gentler
or continued, to tell the truth bluntly?
I wish you left us with a daughter or son,
someone who would carry pieces of you,
so instead, I search for you in everyone,
looking for the next incarnation of you.
© Manivillie Kanagasabapathy
AN: My younger (elder) brother would have been fifty this year.
We lost him in 1999, on his 33rd birthday. It’s one of those things where he remains perpetually frozen at that age, but it hit me this year, as we attended one of our (and his close) friend’s 50th birthday party. I know he hasn’t aged because I miss him every day and every second it feels like I (we) just lost him yesterday.
I only got to (really) know him after I turned 9, he and my older brother had lived in Sri Lanka and India, where they were finishing hight school and going to University. So sometimes, I get petty, and I get mad because I knew him for such a very short time – 10 odd years. Twenty lifetimes is never enough with someone you love.