The Last Poem

Poetry-madras-courier
Representational illustration: Pixabay.
A writer dedicates a poignant poem for her poet father who passed away from Alzheimer’s.

In your simple nursing home room
Friends and family placed paper and pen
on the small table beside the bed
Hoping you would do what you loved
So dearly your whole life,
Write one more poem, even if it were your last.

I wasn’t there, but from past experience
when you had the cataract operation
and the doctor ordered rest for the eyes
Which of course you did not heed
I imagine you fumbled in your pocket
for your train pass and said your usual:
‘I have to catch the 8:15 train to Churchgate station
Or I’ll be late to the *P.E.N. office
I am needed there.’

Writing a poem might awaken the brain
Friends and family believed,
I saw you staring vacantly at the ceiling
in the photograph they sent me.

Perhaps if the sun, moon, stars, sky
a few trees and a calming wind
had ‘waltzed’ into the room
Your poem would take shape
Or perhaps they should move you
To a more inspiring environment.

You have left the earth
The trains from Bombay Central to Churchgate
Come and go, they are more crowded.
Someone else is at the P.E.N. office now
They still talk about you
Your desk piled high with manuscripts
You, surrounded by poets and writers.

Now, I write the poems
to keep your memory alive
I don’t have to, it happens naturally,

You are so alive in every poem you wrote
Your ‘Collected Works’ is my other Bible
Your twinkling eyes brighten my lines
Their spark of mischief enhance the images.

You often said ‘I am needed there at the office,’
Do you know how much you are needed  here?

One day, I will read my poems to you
My prayer is to be granted the patience
to wait for that day.

***

Madras Courier originally ran as a broadsheet with a poetry section. It was a time when readers felt comfortabl. sharing glimpses of their lives through verse. If you have a poem you’d like to submit, do email us at editor@madrascourier.com.

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