A poem for Sunil by his sister Anila

The rhythm of my sadness.

The metronome sets the rhythm
For a grief, which sets the tone,
For the mind knows no purpose now,
And accepts this as its own.

The rhythm of my sadness
Becomes the cadence of my soul
, And cadence serves my purpose now,
As I've lost my lifelong role.

Grief becomes my labour,
And I labour out of love,
Trying to redeem myself
With the beats of the drum.

But the beating,
And the rhythm,
With the cadence,
Just go on.
I'm a slave to that metronome,
The unforgiving one.

The pace and purpose are governed by the grief,
And nothing can grant the necessary relief,
For I know that you would not have gone
if you had been the same,
But in this life
Discrimination truly reigns.

So now, my love, your Dad and I
Must find a place for your remains.