The Sunrise that belongs Elsewhere

The Sunrise that belongs Elsewhere

Each morning,

at nearly the same hour,

two words arrived

like a small bird returning home. 

"Good morning." 

To the world,

they were ordinary words. 

But,

To one waiting heart,

they were sunlight

and shadow together. 

Four years had passed

since touch had spoken

where words could not. 

Four years

of crowded calendars,

family duties,

business calls,

celebrations,

obligations,

and postponed promises. 

Yet not one morning

had missed its greeting.

The sender loved.

The receiver knew it. 

Love lives

in the faithful arrival,

in concern disguised as casual questions,

in messages sent before dawn,

and in thoughts shared after midnight. 

But one heart belonged

to many worlds:

To family.

To responsibility.

To reputation.

To duty. 

And somewhere,

carefully protected,

to a secret love. 

The other heart

belonged almost entirely

to that love alone. 

That was the difference. 

Whenever a meeting seemed near,

life stepped in between. 

A family gathering.

A business shopping.

An urgent commitment.

A responsibility impossible to refuse. 

Apologies followed.

Forgiveness followed too.

What else could love do? 

One morning,

after reading the familiar greeting,

a reply began to form:

"How beautiful to be remembered

in a sunrise

that belongs elsewhere."

The words lingered.

Then disappeared. 

Instead came the simpler answer:

"Good morning." 

Moments later,

a small heart appeared on the screen. 

Nothing more.

No embrace.

No stolen afternoon.

No fulfilled longing. 

Only a tiny red symbol,

glowing quietly

between two separate lives. 

And yet,

for a moment,

it was enough.

For sometimes love survives

not on what it receives,

but on the certainty

that somewhere,

amid all the duties of the world,

it is still remembered

every morning. 

~ Dr Intaj Malek

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Road Between

I walked among the quiet, measured breath

To mourn my friend’s mother, bowed by grace,

Where words fell short before the weight of death,

And silence stood to take their place.

 

Across the road, a truth too clear to hide,

Necropolis facing acropolis high,

The city of the dead, the living side,

Two worlds beneath a single sky.

 

Once, tombs lay far from daily human tread,

At edges where the ancient cities end,

But now cities build them within instead,

Where life and loss no longer bend.

 

Smoke rose slowly, prayers dissolved in air,

While horns and footsteps claimed the street,

Death waited in bier, calm, patient and fair,

As life flowed past on hurried, restless feet.

 

~ Dr Intaj Malek

(Written at Thaltej crematorium on the funeral of Hasumati Kamdar)

 

 

 

Funeral Road

 I walked behind quiet footsteps,
to the funeral of my friend’s mother,
where words grew thin
and silence knew no names.
 
Across the road, seen a chimney of
necropolis facing acropolis,
death and height staring at one another
like old philosophers
who already knew the answer.
 
Once, in ancient cities,
the necropolis slept at the edges,
a distant place for ashes and memory.
But here, in modern city of hassles,
it is vast, present, unavoidable
a city within the city.
 
Opposite it rises the acropolis of living days:
traffic, voices, unfinished plans,
people climbing toward tomorrow
without looking across the road.
 
Smoke lifts.
Prayers dissolve into air.
Life continues, stubborn and bright,
while death waits calmly,
never in a hurry.
 
What a coincidence, we say.
What a truth, life replies
those beginnings and endings
often live face to face,
and we are always
crossing the street between them.
 
~Dr Intaj Malek

(Written at Thaltej crematorium on the funeral of Hasumati Kamdar)