Sitting at the corner of an empty dining table;
In a room unfamiliar.
I look at the morning light from the entrance;
Flanked with silhouettes of familiar people.
A calmness has descended over the gathering;
That primitive satisfaction of full bellies.
Bodies huddled together;
Rejoicing quietly in this collective pleasure.
I feel like capturing this moment of bliss,
But have nothing except my senses.
To drink in this experience then,
Feels like the only recourse.
Conversations with relatives, old and young,
Revisit in this moment of solitude.
Some fragments of theology and philosophy;
Some anxious enquiries on matrimony
Some optimistic career and educational moves;
Some opinions on political subterfuge;
Some sad discussions about old age homes;
Some precious nuggets of wrinkled wisdom.
A sadness clouds my train of thoughts.
"Will there ever be another?";
That dreaded question.
That omnipresent fear of our transient nature.
But then I hear a familiar voice,
Waking me up from my reverie.
"Will you play with us?", it says.
"Will you come and join us?"
"Of course, I will", I said.
Springing up from that dining table chair,
I walk towards that bright light,
To be one amongst those silhouettes.
