There you lie, your eyes closed, sunken deep as if they withdrew from this world of hate and hunger to give you peace, you mouth just open wide enough for a grain of rice that I push in, my last offering of peace, before you go.
I shift you a little so you can be comfortable in the metaphorical sense, your sweat I wipe away even though I know it is condensation; you are ice cold like a slab of meat even as I try to
offer you a flower
touch your feet
ask for forgiveness for all I did not say.
You wait patiently, your arms on your chest as if you have eternity waiting for you, for once you are not running the show, there is none of your agitated presence shouting just the right things to do at these occasions, it is almost as if you are letting me be a man and allow me to grow up.
There is no time for me to mourn or cry or even to think of the significance of your cold body on the floor, the lamps, the incense, the open coconuts with oil in them, there is just a procession of people, I even smile at them, all their faces just melding into one
I kiss your forehead.
We ride together for your last journey, this time I am leading the way, I have the fire pot on my lap that is destined for you, I look back,
I can see your bound feet
I can still see I am not a man yet
I can still see I haven't told you all the secrets
I can still see that you wanted to say you loved me but never did.
In the end, watching the macabre site of the crematorium keeper picking your bones, I wonder why you are so warm,
like a smile
like a memory
like an image of you riding a bicycle on a warm sunny day
like a tormented moment when you knew you couldn't make that trip because there wasn't any money
like my mother's tears,
like your children's tired sleep waiting for your drunken steps on the porch,
like your smile,
like your love,
like a hot, hot sun
All I am left with is this picture of you sleeping, your eyes closed, sunken deeply as if they withdrew from this world to give you peace.
I am still waiting for my peace.
