My Santiago

With one long hair on its tip!

They say nails and hair grow when people die!

Dressed in one of his numerous suits, Simple tie and crisp white shirt, But with socks on feet no shoes, He looked like my dad But this wasn’t him!

I did not shy away. I took my time, And looked at this image of my dad, With minute precision, Trying to comprehend this thing called death,

Trying to see him in there, Compelling him to wake, To respond with wry humour.

But there was nothing there!

Simply flesh, skin, bone, All in the process of decay, (with nails and hair growing) No blood!

Ice-cold face, Eyes closed, The light gone out!

I felt grief and yet a strange elation!

He wasn’t there, He had left a long time ago, Left his cage of pain!