Visualize this:
inside an empty concert theater
unoccupied seat between me and your older brother, in our hands
are the newly printed photographs we all
took back in Fukuoka when we all got into
an accident
Imagine this:
Through your window, the night had revealed itself as a
mantle of blinking
objects.
‘twas a common sight but the absences of those stars inside you
made you want to swim with the
thousand lights brought by heaven;
in your pocket, was the engagement ring
you are supposed to give to my sister
Visualize:
my funeral, your brother’s funeral
Imagine:
the lied me and your brother composed
with you, in your favorite brown shirt and barefooted, humming
the unfinished melody
Visualize, again:
the sunset back in Fukuoka
or in Mumbai
Imagine, once again:
your English professor back in College who (as you told me)
reminded you of me
in your bed, nude and covered with a blanket
heaving and dreaming.
Two years ago, you told me: our hardships are too
difficult to confess, too difficult to even acknowledge.
It’s a demanding activity, you added.
In full honesty, I never entirely grasped those words
because that sundown, I was just so dazed
so overwhelmed—I know you remember that I never replied to you—by how
the eventide poured onto your face: ‘twas not a perfect sun-kissed but it was the heavens
transferring a splendor whisper
The following night at Fukuoka, I saw the future,
your future still filled with
sufferings, I never understood why.
Now, I know.
With or without the theater curtains to admit it: I know.