There has to be a way

To say “thank you” and “I love you”.

Write a poem, they said –

But perhaps a present or two will do

What a metaphor cannot –

Perhaps I should do both,

Because for someone who made me realise

How a voice can be so much like a light,

The least I can do is wrap the world

In a metaphor and gift it to you.

I’ve followed that light all my life.

Mute, as you sang to the rain.

You remember? We used to wait together

Through the seasons,
To greet the dark clouds

So you could sip your tea and I my Bournvita

As we watched the city change.

Every morning you’d rise and shine and gleam and glow

And all the world would grow

And I from my bed in my Superman pyjamas

Would yawn and kick around

Preferring the dark arms of slumber.

After these many years, let me tell you

Slumber has laid down its arms and

Suns have grown dark.

You remember?

I was your good boy, smart boy, strong boy.

So strong, that rivers rolled down my face

When your twinkling eyes shed tears,

So strong, that I had the guts to hide

Behind your dupatta

Through all the rainbows of frequent fears

Of stormy childhood darkness.

There is nothing I would not give up to have back

My own personal lightingale to bring life to my world.

I live alone but I am only lonely when I miss you.

You will never leave me, of that
I am sure;

You will always be there,

Not in this house but within our home.

I know you and I will always be in the same boat,
and you will always set the sail for me.

From all the way here, an ocean away,

I know our bond will last

Until you cannot recognise

My lightest birthmark.

Recently, you sang for me across the continents.

My partner died and you sang

And lit a sunflower in that cemetery.

You’ve always sung,

On life, to death,

And in everything you’ve always found something,

A something truer, purer,

Than a poet like me ever could.

I don’t know – has it gotten any clearer?

Write a poem, they said –

Sisyphus has an easier job.

How do I convey, what should I say,

about something so beyond the physical;

Nothing meta, -physical or -phor

Is promising to work in our favour.

Maybe someday I will learn to word and display
what you mean to me as a mother

But today is not that day.

Because how do I say, “thank you”, to a person
who has given me so much;

how do I say “I love you”, when

love is not enough?

I never told you this, but I was always afraid of the dark.

But maybe you already know it.

Mothers always know everything.

I have never told you a lot of things.

Thank you.

I love you.

My lightingale,

You’ve sung it to me a thousand times.

As if I never knew it.

There has to be a way to tell you, even though

You might already know it.

Write a poem, they said.

Maybe the best way to tell you

Isn’t to feel or think or write it

Perhaps the only way to say something

Is to say it.