Friday, January 22, 2010

A Letter to Tok Yet

My dearest Tok Yet

I am so sorry..

Ever since you passed on, away and out of our physical reach, my mind simply refuses to write to or for you. It's not that I didn't try. I thought I knew what to write about. In fact, I still remember knowing exactly how to write it. That lonely leaf is still falling inside my head. The smell of damp soil is still fresh in my nasal memory. The sound of my little cousin telling his father "Tok Yet is underground, sleeping. He's sleeping," still rings a bit too clear in my ears than how I would want it to be.

Trust me, I have tried.

Look at the white board in my office. Cramped and bursting to the seams with a chaos of words. Look at those sad looking papers. Doodled, crumpled, trashed and retrieved again for the umpteenth time. So much rejection would have left a sane person's heart smashed to dust. Then there's that trail of dried tears that never fail to work like bread crumbs leading back to you. I have all these to call my own and yet, I couldn't complete one decent poem in your name. I am truly ashamed.

I've searched for a reason but just can't seem to put a finger on it. Does finishing the poem indicates that I'll be done mourning for you? That's preposterous. Or that the poem could possibly express my quiet grief? I seriously doubt it. Or that maybe, by finishing it, I could break myself free and begin my journey to forgetting. Stick a white flag in the trenches of that never ending battle between life and death. Bury the open wounds of loss. Just try to live and survive this shell shock, one crawling day at a time.

But don't worry, you know how your grand daughter is. I'll try again. I will and I'll make you proud. Love you loads, Tok Yet. Sleep sweet.


0 poetic mutterings: