S is for Saagar.
For Simon and Sangeeta.
Sudden shocking jolt
For shameful silent suffering,
Suffocating grief
Secret sobbings,
And survival.
Like one strike of lightening
Sucking up a few lives at once.

S is for surreal memorial services
Soul-searching and seeking
Sometimes screaming out-loud
Shattered dreams, salty tears,
Super-flowing goodness
Softened humanity,
And sweet memories
Strewn across the wooden floor
Like techni-coloured glass beads.

S is for simplicity
And sweet
Sensitivity
Sparkling smiling eyes
Spicy savouries
Salvation and solace
Soulful stillness
Shiny haloes and surrender
Like the curve of a weeping willow
Stooping down to kiss the ground.

S is for sharing
Speaking out loud
Small things
Saffron rice and saag-paneer
Saturdays and Sundays
Seeing Samsara
Self as everything
Like the stars, songs and strings
Of guitars, and drum skins.

S is for solitude
Silence and serendipity
Sublime sun and sea
Sunflowers and sushi
Shirts and silk ties
Socks mismatched
Subtle messages from beyond
Like smoke signals in the distance
Sent out by friends from before.

S is for stigma of suicide in society.
Stashes of hidden sadness
Shrouded in small dark spaces
So little support and understanding
Such little compassion
Screened behind sports-cars
Suntans and scotch.
Like a corpse in the room
tip-toed around.

S is for serendipity. Sweet child of mine.