Wednesday, April 15, 2015

2177 : On the death of a secret

I have seen far too much of dying and devolution in my limited life. And my usual response to this full stop, is a few moments of pause and then "all systems go" again. I don't let myself be numbed by this discontinuity, though at times it still does distracts me immensely. In most cases, like a masked superhero, who is fighting to save Gotham (and participating in a fancy dress :-))- I tell myself that death is just another statistic.

And then Monday happens. I hear of the death of a dear friend - someone who I have met all of 4 times in my life. How does that make her a dear friend?

If that explains anything at all - we shared secrets. Far too many of them, and far too intimate ones. We were both absolutely in love with poetry, wine and music. We both could spend hours talking about the merits of a poem or otherwise. (I dont know any other person in my life who I have had so much fun talking on poetry.) And she had wisdom which was far beyond me. The timeless beauty that can only be born out of age, compassion and the sheer purposeful goodness of her life.

She was the one who taught me (without ever saying it) that giving can sometimes cause immense pain, but give we must - especially if we are fighting to score a win. She would joke and say that she was incessantly carving little parts of her own heart and perennially losing them along the way. Like signposts for her soul, an autobiographical cartographer if one could think of such a metaphor.

I learnt a lot from her, and yet I learnt too little. There was so much in her that I hoped to imbibe into my battle weary soul.  I had hoped to grow old - stealing from her pile of wisdom. What once was, is no longer. (I had not met her for over 8 months now, and not spoken in over 4 months.)

Come Monday, it occurred to me that I indeed had lost a little piece of my broken heart, quite inadvertently - just like she had suggested I should learn to do.

Here's to a dear friend, who never really was one, but ironically, was a real dear friend. Bearer of shared secrets, rest in peace. I will never know what I dont know now.

The poet is dead. Long live the poet.

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