By Nabila Crane
Your dry, cracked lips never once made me look away.
The veins taking over your face when you spoke, we were enthralled.
In a roomful of people, you were truth and virtue, yet this
Glorious imperfection standing tall—
Every word that you uttered, every step that you took
held this unbearable weight.
You were shut out from this world,
a recluse in the trappings of a stagnant society.
Forgive me if I didn’t, lost as I was — my heart sound asleep —
Abandoning you to the War of Love —
To this day I ask myself who answered your thoughts,
Who silenced your stoic suffering?
We were rooted in kinship,
Almost as if you had known me
years before I had known you.
What an old warrior you were,
facing your fears each day.
An ascetic, aching you accepted
time’s truth: We are its pious prisoners.
Like Krishna, in the battle of Kurukshetra,
your dharma was to Love—
with Courage you voiced
Vedic law. Stop Waging War.
And the divine words spoken
in the spirit of our Self:
“This too shall pass.”
On days that feel deafening and defeating,
I remember your words.
On days that feel meaningless and hopeless,
I say them to myself.
On days that feel absolutely mind numbing,
I write them down.
And when I can’t write…
I close my eyes and imagine you here with me.
But I can’t anymore. Your pain has been mine for too long.
It’s tough to say Goodbye, C. But just know, your light stays with me:
“This too shall pass.”