The following poem is a tribute to my grandmother, who I unfortunately only got to meet once in my life because she lived in Burma and it was nearly impossible at the time to visit. She passed before I could meet her again..
Eyes on the departure board
Tripping on the uneven curb
Kicked up dust ambles into amber hues of sunset
It hits me
As unexpected as the last time
Yet familiar
The same swell of feelings, teasing each other, daring each other to unleash all they remember
In that plume of dust, the curb vanishes
The phone in my hand morphs into a tattered passport
The train station dissolves in a blink and I’m now seated, looking over my shoulder at a hazy figure, gradually diminishing from view
Sweating in the heat of this rusting old car, I wipe my brow, for I must see
An acrid smell of petrol distracts for a moment; a moment too precious to lose, since the distance will only grow now
Fighting against the bumpy road, I crane my neck further still
I can see her hand gently waving, as she takes another weary step into the dust trail left behind.
The same gentle hand that was a stranger to me not long before this moment
The same hand that somehow became the safest, warmest and most giving that I can recall
Her hand
That had nothing to give me, yet gave me more than I deserved all the same
Her hand falls to her face, as her face falls into her shoulders
The weariness of age played it’s part
Yet there was more to this dejected posture and faltering of steps than my young mind would allow itself to believe
She knew this was the last goodbye
Time would not be kind enough to wait for her
For any of us
Alas I was naively convinced that time was immaterial
Just a vessel with man at the helm
A plane, through which we chose our paths.
As devoid of purpose as a road with no-one to tread it
I was mistaken
The humble warmth of her smile belonged to time, as much as it did to my own memory
My memories, belonging as much to time as to myself
For in time they will fade
The distance between the memory of her and the present will only grow now
More dust will be kicked up as time moves forward
The finer details of her face will be lost in the haze; her touch will remain but the texture of her hands will elude me
Chipped away by the chisel of time; all that will survive is her essence
The only eternal amidst the flecks of forgotten memories
Now the dust trail fades, as her silhouette is swallowed by a fast rising sun
I have to relent and turn away from this abrupt blaze of light
The sun draws closer and closer until it rushes past my face with a howl and suddenly my train arrives.
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