What If?

                                 What If?

Wait…
                                   Let’s examine this
                                   wearing new eyes
What if
                                   Death isn’t the bad guy.
                                   Life is the hollow-eyed
                                   kidnapper who stole us
                                   away from the garden city of
                                   light & love floating, as the  
                                   clouds.
                                   Death is the river that leads
                                   back home    
                                   ?                              
Could it be
                                   God didn’t create man but
                                   man, gifted with imagination,
                                   created God, like the sons of
                                   baal, for mercenary motivations
                                   ?
It could be…
                                   that dying is living & vice-versa
                                   —maybe death is the birth of
                                   dawn ( seeds die before living).
                                   that death is a frozen lake,
                                   solid, yet ephemeral like
                                   mother’s last mien—
                                   eyes shut, devoid of expression,
                                   yet peaceful & comforting.
                                   that mum is playing in a garden
                                   now. that mother’s final
                                   portrait is no sad departure.

What if
                                   This is the tale of a little boy
                                   whose grief-consumed heart
                                   knocks mad/ the wishes of a
                                   boy whose little hands are too
                                   weak to exhume the bones of
                                   his beloved; too weak to shake
                                   the foundation of the world
 
Verdict:
                                   Little boy, dry your tears, cease
                                   praying for pigs to fly.
                                   Little boy, dance with grief to
                                   the dirge of Mother’s departure
                                 
                                   Death is death, Life is life
                                   Grief is the ache                    
                                   that’ll never heal