My Santiago

But he died! At 48, Too early, But strangely, timely, And in time.

Not for him old age, Nor ageing gracefully, Acting with regard to consequence.

Ralph’s was a brief life, -Ephemeral existence-

Lived on his terms, And when he died playing soccer on a workday afternoon, He was doing what he liked, No more no less!

The five are now four, Spread across time zones, continents, With families, occupations, And the things to do, People to see; But those Colombo days, Are still etched in my memory, Knowing we had something -hard to capture- In this too grown up life.