Expectation is experience laced with arrogance.
I would be lying to you if I told you that I expected this.
Because of this, the impact was cushioned by a pathetic surrender to a philosophy of acceptance.
I don’t want to keep on going thinking that I’m made of ice, casually brushing off the pain that was left from the monsoon.
Was it customary, or was it Michael’s sword reversed?
Were you warrior, tiger? Were you warrior, brother?
Your life was stolen from you. You were robbed of your air, choked by the chains we have been cursed to drag.
Tiger, I knew your future was foreboding but laced with a benevolent bond.
The winds of change not only swept in a home but a war. And with a roof, came an armor.
And with your bark you not only waked yourself up, but fought a witch’s jealousy.
You were warrior, brother. However, you didn’t ask for it. And for that, I want to say sorry.
You taught me to not expect. You taught to live and let love.
It is what it is, for to die you need only be alive.
Our reunion is an appointment woven with expectancy.
Sleep, tiger. Your barks won’t wake you where you are now.
Stop fighting, brother. Sleep in Bengal.