In any man who dies there dies with him
his first snow and kiss and fight….
Not people die but worlds die in them.
~Yevgeny Yevtushenko, “People”
And with you ends a world of our own. From the day you were unreachable to this point a hundred different worlds built on you have come crashing down. I believe, you knew it. You always knew it. But you let yourself be. You are not Jesus, you won’t resurrect. Maybe you were Jesus,but you still won’t resurrect. Ask me. She never did. You won’t either. All the jokes about haunting this place and that. It will never happen. When you are dead, you’re dead. That’s it. But the fool you were must have thought otherwise. As though, the existence which felt unbearable would be a different experience when you arose from the dead. And you would laugh as you always imagined you would. A roar of a laughter, like the Rakshyas did. Was is the Morrison effect? You thought you’d have ‘wings where we had shoulders smooth as ravens claws’? An angel. Is that what you are now?
And when you have chosen to silence yourself what is the point conversing with you. Are you free now Kuhiro Morrison? Has the journey actually begun Dean Moriarty? Or you regretted it as soon as you knew what you were doing… as you always did. Write back..write the long email pending since 2004. The mail that asks you ‘Should I not be written?’. Haunt me if you can.Tell me what you see in the canvas of nothingness, the unusual lines you draw on them. As we ask you the same questions you asked her when she died…
Gone for the days.
gone for the nights.
where should we look for you?
in the stars?
in the flowers?
or in the monsoon showers?
lost in a whirlpool of memories
you often float in the surface
and in our common dreams
you sing: live and don’t be afraid.
(Written by the man who liked to call himself Dean Moriarty)
R.I.P dearest friend. Rest In Peace.