If I could see you just once more

I loved you when some Plathian muse found you
that night, and you just typed lines, slightly dense,
a little obscure, misunderstood, misconstrued,
and hell, even hated by most.

I loved you, when you struggled to find a voice,
both in life and in art, and said, “I can’t do it
anymore,” with a choke between each syllable,
ripping my heart, urging me to find some way,
some route to help you gain closure.

I loved you, when you tried with all your might
to swim against the current of sickness and time,
coughing blood, even though you never smoked,
connected to a tube, with poison seeping through,
your only savior also a murderer.

I loved you, when you walked around, in a gown,
a fragile reflection of the woman you were,
bald, and still hoping for some solace in the words
you wrote on a page, and me, your only reader.

I loved you, as I kept each note, reading them when I
worked, footing the bills, and your
tragic optimism of a togetherness, both carrying
and breaking me.

I loved you, when you finally succumbed, and the
machine flat lined, and though, I looked and looked,
I couldn’t find anything, but those notes I kept,
photographs that seemed like a blur, and
the poetry you left, using a pseudonym, on a
blog now defunct.

I loved you, when I walked towards the coffin,
unable to deliver a eulogy, and instead just
sputtering words you once wrote me, concealing
my cries to oblivion, whispering a ‘why?’

I fucking love you, and I’m unable to write
this, the past I’ve never spoken about coming back,
hitting me like a maelström of rough syllabic
shards, cutting flesh, and breaking bone, and
I never asked for poetry, and I’ll stop,
if I could see you just once more.

© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)

Protected by Copyscape

29 responses

  1. NItin, I am often afraid to read your posts….because they hurt so much, they hurt in ways that are almost unbearable. What can I say about this post…..I suppose my tears will have to say it all and you will have to believe they are real and uncomfortable and aching.

    • Dear Susan

      That is such a beautiful comment. I do believe that your tears are real. I come from a place of deep anguish and despair and my expression sadly reflects that. Even when I write not feeling anything, people tell me they felt something. So, I’m just glad that I moved you. I’m hurting and writing is really all I have.

      • I hope that in the writing of it, you get some relief. I know that I do and I can only wish the same is true for you. I am so glad, and unsurprised, that you know this comment I made is one from a place of truth and understanding. I find you to be extraordinary. And, you make me incredibly sad. I need to stop going on about it. I know you get it.

      • I’m humbled by your kind words Susan. Writing does provide me a little relief. It’s better to pour it all out rather than bottling it up. Once again, I’m happy that my pieces resonate with you. I enjoy reading you as well.

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