They say you have disappeared
An enforced one
But why do I find you everywhere?
I find you every morning
When I open my eyes
In the intense smell
Of that pungent oil
Which you always wore
With rural arrogance
I find you in your cold room
Near your desk
In your hasty scribbled notes
You used to make
While staring at the black and white picture
Of my mother when she was in prime
I find you in the lawn
Among the whispering flowers
You used to tender
And stubborn weeds
You used to gently weed out
I find you in my mother’s eyes
When she tries to hide
Her real tears
With the tears coiling down her dry cheeks
While cutting onions for our dinner
Which doesn’t taste same
As it used to when you were here
I find you in that ancient field
Where a Chinar stands even now
Like a testimony of your presence
Under whose shade
You and your friends
Used to smoke
The smoke is still entangled
Between its labyrinth branches
I find you in those folklores
Which you used to narrate to me
Every night
In which moon was my personal football
And the enormous vastness of space
My playground
You gifted to me
I find you in the long pauses
And ominous sighs of my sister
When your disappeared name echoes
Suddenly, in the ancient tales
Of my grandmother
I find you ominously omnipresent
Everywhere
I don’t believe that you have disappeared
In fact, they should look for me
I am lost somewhere, everywhere
With your presence everywhere
I am enforced to disappear.
