An Ode to Grief

Oh brother, were you not like a receding wave,

Or a bygone shooting star?

The weighing scales are uneven; my heart now grave.

Oh, a mischievous soul you were- no, you are.

They say the brightest angels are lent,

But dare, how dare the seraphim to claim you, you who were ours?

It hadn’t been the blue twilight that took you but,

The mocking Morningstar that shone on us from afar.

They say you are at one with Him

But I wish selfishly so, that you might have dallied an hour.

Yet we carry with us the flowers of your past,

We trudge on; a little broken, as we are.

Time did not heal us, no,

For that would presume finite was our woe.

Love, love echoes in these empty hearts of ours,

And we find again our departed parts just as the dust is called back to the star.

By  Devika Singh