Because He Was So Gentle.

He had a gentle way.

A gentle way of brushing away strands of hair

Lying on my forehead: when I wrote down things on my notebook.

A gentle way of holding my hand among

The crowded street, even though I knew my way,

Same way how he cheered me up on my sad days.

He had a gentle way,

A gentle smile even when his eyes were sad

So sad that I could feel the whirlpool of pain pouring out of them.

Sometimes in the middle of the night,

He had the habit of calling me after a fight

With someone, he loved dearly.

To find some solace in my voice,

In my synchronized breathes over the phone,

Along with him.

And then there were places

Which reminded me of him every time;

I crossed a lane nearby

On evenings of summer

When a cold breeze

Brushed on my face, gently

Gently – like his touch.

He had a gentle way of conveying

His wishes, almost in a low tone – as if

They didn’t even exist.

Sincerely hoping with all his heart,

That I listen and I do.

And you should listen to his

Sounds- sounds of his sleep.

Only I can realize the precise moment

When his slow breathes changes into sleep;

And then I am not proud

But I know him, inside out,

When his soft hair brushes against my chin

My fingers intertwining strands of them

As he is fast asleep on my chest.

And then the gentle way

He pushes me away, bit by bit;

Like a bubbly child too silent

in pain.

Because – he was gentle ;

So gentle that if he walked away

You wouldn’t hear a sound – not even the falling of a leaf;

But inside,

Ohh but inside…

My heart would be a wide volcano,

Erupting once in terrifying pain

And then

DEAD.