It would have been my father’s birthday today. Allah yerhamu. This poem was written last October.
The saying goes, “time heals.”
But I don’t think so. It only strips the surreal.
I think time simply reveals
That the agony is deeper and more real
Than the strongest part of us thought it could conceal.
Because the thought of re-awakening wounds,
Re-living sweet memories buried in stormy hearts
Embracing our unbearable vulnerability
Tears us inwardly violently apart
In a million ways.
Granted, time can heal. And it needs to at times.
Time will heal hurt, bad moments, unpleasant lies.
But what if I only have fond memories of you,
Memories that act as explosive fuel
For enough warmth to set my heart ablaze?
Frankly, if healing means slowly forgetting you
Then I forget who I am, too
So no, I don’t want to heal from this
Remembering you and all you gave me of bliss
This is grief.
And, in brief,
I will learn to breathe through it
Simply because I must,
and I know you
Wouldn’t have wanted my soul to rust.
I will learn,
Through secret tears that burn,
To take all the knots in my crowded heart
And make a silk rope; just a part
Of my brilliant plan to keep climbing up
That I might be fortunate enough to be your kinda cup
At least half as kind, sweet
Half as intelligent a mind,
Half as chivalrous as you were.
I cannot wait for time
To never heal me from remembering you and your legacy.
Looking on the bright side of an endlessly dark tunnel,
Grieving is a beautiful thing, I must say
Beautiful in its own twisted, ironic and desperate way
It’s beautiful to know that this terrible feeling
Meant I knew and loved someone worth the grieving
And that alone is a kind of healing.
Two months down.
A lifetime more to go.
-October 11, 2019