Verses of Absence
That day you missed school,
we learned
there is no "big picture,"
no grand scheme of things—
only moments.
And that
moment,
when we laughed until we cried?
It was a form of prayer,
akin to a sacred
rite.
The day you missed school,
we produced math sheets,
methods evoking,
how
your grandmother tenderly kneaded porota dough—
coaxing, patting, and sculpting
the formless mass into flawless rectangles.
Two gold bangles created a melody
against the porcelain bow.
We then studied how even perfection has its cracks,
and cracks have their beauty,
like when the rectangles sizzle in ghee—
parching,
like craters,
tossing and turning,
in five inches of pure golden goodness,
oozing love stories.
In each corner, an undeniable right angle, both bold and
sharp—
a fierce, possessive, commitment.
The day you missed school,
just before
the afternoon snuggles,
we made equations look easy—
the ones that proved
Effort_blend = 0,
the sum of all efforts to blend is null.
We unraveled complex
formulas with ease—
those that illustrated
solitude and loneliness
are not
inherently intertwined,
defying the Law of Direct Proportion.
The day you missed
school,
there was a Q&A session,
a discussion unfurled,
a back-and-forth on
life's affirmations,
and we reached a consensus:
we chose "all of the above" for
the question:
it's PERFECTLY FINE to:
(a) let go
(b) bow out
(c) renounce what
no longer serves
(d) walk away from the extraneous
Throughout the day,
there was
also a bit of linguistics,
a discussion highlighting
that “I am,”
“just be,”
and
“enough,”
are complete sentences.
That day you missed school, poetry was penned
in our memories. ❤️
