The whimpers of a bereaved heart

Blatant hope, striving to hear –
The voice of my flesh-and-blood.
But they declared dead, my dear,
Oh! They say he’s drowned in the sea and turned to mud!

Can you hear the wailings of my desperate soul?
Helpless, unable to figure out my him’s whereabouts,
vanished with 238 unknown spirits. Oh! Look at the death toll!
“Where’s the aircraft?” – Too many theories, hypotheses and doubts.

The plane did fly, meandering through the clouds,
Then, didn’t you sense the wrong direction?
If you had aided, there wouldn’t have been so many rounds,
Of search parties dispiritedly despatched from 26 nations....

Long lost are those days, when he toiled in his homeland.
Fusing shattered pieces of his life to sustain his family.
Doing right – is it wrong? Yes? Then, I chastise, strongly reprimand.

No opulent shelter to dwell upon,
Meagre bread, fed from the cash he sent,
 A mere construction worker’s wife’s cry – “He’s gone!”
Anguish, tears, I do only own my anger to vent.

My children yearn for his arrival – A year long since they kissed –
their dad on his cheeks, Oh! Now, look at their trembling lips!
My sweethearts’ destitute hearts are murdered with his homecoming twist.
An indelible daub, you created, hope dribbling in drips.

O North Star! Look at their innocent eyes, wide with alarm,
Their cheeks scalded with unceasing tears.
How did you get the heart to jab such bad charm?

Oh boy! At least I know he didn’t survive,
But how do I answer my young infants, who ask,
“Where’s Papa, will he come alive?”
His blood-curdling death, how will I mask?

I know, you find no sense in me holding a grudge against you –
-  you, who once guided the ships and boats but not planes,
But when infinities seem to enclose me, I cling onto anything new –
any possibility that gives a ray of hope to my memory lanes.

O Pole Star! I’ve got nothing of his remains,
Forgive these distressed whimpers; bear the silent whines of my heart,
Silent moments of despair, drenched with icy cold, death veins.


Couldn’t you manoeuvre the big bird?
Are you a guiding star? Is it a lie?
But do make-up for your ignorance, steering away from netherworld
And guiding my Star to shine in the twilight.

March 8 – a black day in the Aviation history,
‘MH370 vanished into thin air,’ – a news long buried now.
But where? It has to be somewhere – still it remains a mystery,
The question lingers unanswered – “HOW?”

A chill runs down my spine, memories freeze,
Dried tears, numb pain – My only relations left,
Is this why I was born – a life to wheeze?

You ask me how I’m able to handle his missing pressure,
My answer would be this – I still hope to demand a chance –
To live with him in my incinerating dreams, again a fresher...
MH370 artwork
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