apu’s run

death
sweats
and rattles
by my grandad’s shrivelled side
waiting
for one more day,
one more grandchild

to say goodbye.

he ran, once, through the forest
from burma to the himalayas
and drank madhu
and never ran again
and never drank again.

and i, who have never drunk madhu
still continue to run.

and he lies there
with 75 kg bags of chicken feed
and fresh caught crabs
alive only in my memory
our memory

and i wish
and i wish
and i wish

to say goodbye.


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