I am weighed down
by the words unsaid
between us and the
expectations of
accommodations we
are afraid to ask.
Knowing that in the
asking is the admittance
that we were not as we
once believed ourselves to be,
and time had not been the
friend, we imagined forever knowing.
© Manivillie Kanagasabapathy
They say it takes you
7 times as long as you
knew someone to
completely forget them.
I still know you in
memories and moments,
though you are not
beside me.
So 700 years after
I pass, I shall
finally forget
all about you.
© Manivillie Kanagasabapathy
Time is a memory I didn’t know I lost
until I looked in the mirror and
saw lines that fortune had drawn,
and the softness that wisdom had granted.
© Manivillie Kanagasabapathy
The distance between us
only makes sense when
we speak in laughter,
filling the silence
of missing you
with the joy
of knowing you.
© Manivillie Kanagasabapathy
TW: Abuse
Shattered glass lay at my feet,
each piece reflecting a moment,
a story of my first walk,
when you held me up,
my first word, uncle,
said into the phone
a fleeting smile.
So many pieces,
so much history
but I cannot make
them fit anymore.
Pieces broke so small
that shards are missing.
And though I try to
recreate it,
the re-formed picture
remains incomplete.
© Manivillie Kanagasabapathy
I will always search for you
in the fine silken threads
of white Vaetti and shirt,
in grey hairs and dark skin
and eyes laughing behind glasses.
This is unchanging and true.
You are there in
glasses that magnify the
love and respect within,
The belief that humanity
is inherently good.
I seek you in words
that move me
speeches without end
knowledge shared freely
and words crafted in care.
I see you in fragments,
long fingers tapping the
rhythms of classic dance and song.
Tall bodies, limping from
stubborn decisions.
Aged frames which hide
childish wonder and
a witty mind.
You are the band at the beginning,
the dramatic stripe at the end,
wrapping around in protection,
a mix of the past you left behind
and the future you sought.
Though you only wore white,
You were the stripe of golden colour
On the edges of the Vaetti,
brightening our otherwise plain lives.
© Manivillie Kanagasabapathy
AN: It’s my dad’s birthday today, he would have been 81. A year and a bit since he passed and I still miss his wisdom. He would have been so proud of my taking on this challenge; he always wanted me to write. I am sad that I didn’t do it when he was around but also know he is in all the words I write.
My dad and I. Photo courtesy: Ramya J Images
Tamil words:
Appa = Dad
Vaetti = It is a rectangular piece of unstitched cloth, usually around 4.5 metres (15 ft) long, wrapped around the waist and the legs and knotted at the waist. (Wiki)
I am not, yet, at the stage
where I can embrace my depression.
I am still at the point,
where I am trying to make peace with it.
© Manivillie Kanagasabapathy
