My Lost Conversations

He doffed his peaked cap as I opened the door.
To his stoic silence, his rigid stance
my happy smile succumbed and perished.
‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled, handing me a note.
Holding it, unopened, my eyes searched his face.
But, his countenance remained impassive.
That was my first clue. Ah, the first seed of fear.
Clutching my protruding belly I sank down.
‘No, no…It cannot be!’; I whispered in grief.
On his haunches, he held me and let it sink in.
Our silent conversation needed no words.
My anguished eyes sought his, begged him to deny.
Alas, his moist cheeks conveyed more than words could.
This harbinger was no one to me, and yet
I knew then that the one who was everything
was gone…martyred for his motherland. 
And, with him were gone all my gay conversations,
the casual chit-chats, the easy banter, 
my parleys and his naughty repartees.
Yes, like him, they too were all now lost.

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