Grief’s Letter to Me

This is my swan song.
The one that ends the night,
Yet doesn’t see the sun rise.
And if this is my swan song,
Then I must sing.
Sing for the reasons why
I end the night,
But fail to see the sun rise.
Sing for my graceful fall
And unlike the perpetuity of the rising sun,
My failure to rise.
I sing until I exist,
For once the night bids me good bye,
I won’t see the sun rise.
I sing for you to hear my existence,
Cherish its every beat;
And in my symphony
Feel incomplete.
Oh, unworthy poet,
You hear what you feel;
You write what I speak;
Yet ask me to repeat;
Make me promise to never return;
Die with the night;
Believe to have heard my swan song;
Before the sun rise.
And yet, here I am again,
To sing for you like last night,
And the night before,
And the one before that too.
Dear thinker, writer, lover,
Please wish me a good night,
Let this truly be my last rite
And I promise that with the sunrise
You will be complete;
You will sing your own songs;
And live a long life.

For I am your grief;
Singing a song on repeat. 
And if you can’t bid good bye,
Wait, at the very least,
Until I have a new song in mind.

By Anirudh Dalmia
Painting by JH Lacrocon

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