Sonal Singh On Sonal's Table
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He doffed his peaked cap as I opened the door.
To his stoic silence, his rigid stance
my happy smile succumbed and perished.
His eyes met mine albeit in a brief dalliance.
‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled, handing me a note.
Holding it, unopened, my eyes searched his face.
But, his countenance remained impassive.
That was my first clue.
Yes, it the first seed of fear.
My heart sank to the pit of my gut.
Clutching my protruding belly I slumped down,
A lump of misshapen flesh.
‘No, no…It cannot be!’ I whispered in shock.
His glassy eyes sought my misted ones.
He bent down and held my hands in his.
I clutched at them, wringing them to deny
But there could not be any denial of the truth.
On his haunches, he held me and let it sink in.
Our silent conversation needed no words.
My anguished eyes sought his once again
My keening heart begged him to deny.
His moist cheeks conveyed more than words could.
This harbinger was no one to me, and yet
I knew then that the one who was everything
was gone…gone forever,
Martyred for his motherland, leaving us.
And, with him were gone all my gay conversations,
the casual chit-chats, the easy banter,
my parleys and his naughty repartee’s.
I knew then that like him, they too were all now lost,
Forever…
Note – This poem is an ode to a fallen soldier.
Image – I stock photo
