Friday, 30 September 2016

A Portrait of a daughter as the amateur Gardener

Are you one of those neo-impressionists,
Whose bold strokes and bright colours are
Defiantly applied on the mundane and intimate
with a dramatic air of personal tragedy?
Paint me the following room, with:
Blood thinners, IV, Dextrose, ICU bills, MRI reports,
Haemodialysis, O2 stat, drug resistance, sepsis,
respiratory arrest, Do Not Resuscitate (fashionably, DNR), cardio-respiratory failure.

Of course, it was only but natural for a part of me to become as irrecoverable (as you), (like the umbilical cord we shared), but,
There is another part that is
Hanging in a limbo, trapped in that inexplicable uncertainty of what-it-should-become but what-it-will-become, and what-it-could-have-been, in trying to cultivate your Garden,
That makes it difficult to accord a finality to the painting.

"He does not really teach one anything, but by being brought into his presence one becomes something." is what Wilde wrote about Christ as The Artist/a work of art.
And as with Christ, my life's events have also been recast in the light of before and after you.

M, I miss you. 
(Today is Mahalya)