Writer: Heba Jameel
How do I pay you homage when the tongue is tied to a knot?
Words, too many left unsaid, and inside their shelter would rot.
The garden that bloomed in your honor died before its first spring,
So how do I pay you homage?
At a beach stroll, sharp coughs urged the petals to fall out of the garden.
One by one, the withered flowers left a heavy chest.
The sea, a curious being, asked that it be addressed.
The tides rose in anticipation, every word stroking it to a greater height.
When serenity came , the waves carried what it heard with all its might,
To spread your story to foreign shores, filling every hearing ear with delight.
When the story came to a close, the seagulls made their presence known, saying they’d put their flight on delay.
Inquired, they said that the tales of you got them to extend their stay.
When winter arrives, one of them chirped, when leaving is a must.
They’ll make it their duty to carry your stories to lands far away.
And so it happened,
The wind blew at weakened leaves, rustling and turning in a passionate tune.
Then the birds intervened to add a sweet rhyme, one tweet at a time.
The living cheered, and the dead were still in respect.
Standing, endeared by nature, echoing with you.
Don’t raise a brow when the shore retreats then washes higher to reach your feet,
Or when seagulls quarrel for a seat on the rock closest to you as for you they compete,
They’ve been waiting for this meeting,
For this is your homage.