Written by Arun K Tiwari (moved from comment)

I measure every grief I meet
with reasoned gaze;
I wonder if I grieve you,
loosing father feels so old an ache.

I wonder if it hurts to live,
and if we all have to try,
and whether, could we choose between,
we would not rather die.

I wonder if when years have piled--
decades after decades--on the mind,
Of hurt, of crave, of pain, of loss
could life give it any pause?

We go on aching still and more
through the years ahead,
Enlightened to a larger pain
longing for the elusive gain?

The grieved are many, I can see that;
the reason but deeper lies,
Death is but one and comes but once
and only nails the eyes.

There's grief of want, and grief of losing hold,
a sort we call despair,
there’s banishment from native eyes,
in sight of local air.

And though I may not guess the kind
correctly yet to me
a piercing comfort my memory affords
of the moments I spent with you.

I experience your departure
and watch standing alone
still fascinated to presume
that you were like my own.

___________
Arun K Tiwari