A Week Later....

His death will be a year old.
That day, last year, he left this world.
This twenty fifth of august;
Will remind me of last year's worst;
Time is the best healer.
My grief has become sober.
This cannot be told about my mother.
She is unable to gather.
We have a routine to follow.
Her routine has turned hollow.
Not a day has gone without a tear.
His demise, I am unable to bear.
'Keeping myself busy' is my savior.
Immersing in to writing, am feeling better;
May be, this is his parting gift tome.
Because writing had never been my cup of tea;
Coincidence of my new found hobby and his death, all could see.
He was seen always with a dictionary.
I always indulged in confectionery.
He could never see tears in my eyes.
I was the apple of his eye.
He would create a big hue and cry.
Till my eyes are not dry;
This continued even after my marriage.
I have a son who is teen aged.
Even then he never forgot to pamper me with a chocolate.
This new interest of mine came in very late.
I started writing with his obituary.
Now, I am fighting his grief with stationery.
Pen, paper et al were his trademark.
Now and then, his thoughts give me a jerk.
My mind stops working.
I am unable to stop crying.
Every morning, I promise to control my tears.
I fail miserably, even after a year.
I can imagine my mother's plight.
He was her life's light.
I do not know to console her.
When I myself am shattered;
His seven year old son wrenches my heart.
Also his wife whose loss is the worst;
He was our elder brother.
We, siblings grieve together.
We wipe the tears of each other.
He lived for fifty years.
We were always all ears.
His humor and mimicry made us roll in laughter.
All those thoughts stand in the background.
What comes in front is his photo with the garland.