The Other One By Niscala Devi Dasi

He called the sun "Hard to Look At"
And another son "Hard to Get Through To"
And I wondered if he was interested
In that passage being easy,
Or in what he would find
On the Other side?

He once used up a day
That was choked with heat,
But found it a breeze
And called it "Feels Good"
Of hands that lightly caressed his face,
Of arms that wrapped around his body,
Of fingers, slimly probing,
entering crevices
With ventilating insistency...
I wondered if he could ever
Feel good about himself, because
Of himself, the way he was –
And not a breeze?

I called him his name,
It rolled off my tongue
And slipped away on a forgotten chord of time.
I shook off the feeling of loss with "Goodbye"
Politely presented, padded, parched of feeling,
To never know and yet to care
So very little...