The muted song of the water clock's silent voice

 
Suppose, one day I just drop dead!
You'd be stunned speechless for quite a while hearing the news, wouldn't you?
When you come to, you'd frantically grab your phone
and keep calling my number again and again,
but no one would answer. Or maybe
someone would pick up and say in a cold voice, "The person you're looking for is dead."


Then would your hands start trembling so badly
that the phone would slip and fall to the floor?
Would you sink to your knees on that floor, doubled over in agony, turning blue with grief?
For the longest time you wouldn't want to believe what you heard was true, would you?
After waiting and waiting, when nothing turns out to be a lie,
would you finally break down and sob your heart out?


And then? Then you'd search everywhere, groping around, looking high and low! Wouldn't you?
You'd search for me on your laptop screen.
You'd search for me in the steam rising from your coffee.
You'd search for me in the hands of your watch.
You would search, wouldn't you? Restless, digging through darkness and light to find me.
Moving aside sunlight or piercing through night to search for me.
Here and there, everywhere... frantically searching for me. Am I wrong?


When evening falls, you'd climb to the roof, lean against the ledge, and stare blankly at the sky.
And among all those countless stars, you'd go mad trying to figure out which one was me!
Suddenly at that moment, dazzling your eyes, an owl would
whoosh right past you! For a while you'd return from that kingdom of stars.
And smearing all the darkness of night on yourself, even while in this city you'd hide your face from this very city
and burst into wailing sobs thinking of me! Would it be like that?


You'd search for me at the top of your messenger list.
As days roll forward, my profile would
slowly sink down that list until one day... it would disappear far below. Right?
Even then, would you keep opening messenger and reading
our old conversations over and over?


Would you wait each morning for that text "Good morning, little weaver bird!"?
When night would bring sleep to your eyes,
would you grow melancholy waiting in vain for a "Good night!" message?


Suppose I really did die. People actually do die, you know!
If I really left one day, then when those orchids bloomed
on your balcony, dancing sunlight in your eyes, who would you tell?
On a full moon night, opening your window to gaze at the sky, wouldn't you want to tell someone stories of moonlight?
After finishing each poem, who would you call to recite it to?
Whose email would you send your polished stories to?
All that sorrow you save up to share with me—who would you entrust it to?
Who would you stay up all night sharing your writing with?
Who would you gently pull dawn toward you with, staying awake through the night?
Who would catch the spelling mistakes in your stories?
Who would write poems about you and send them on WhatsApp?
When you feel down after getting scolded by your boss, who would you tell that story to?
Who would you practice cursing with, using all the crude and nasty words there are?
When your brother's daughter just learned to walk, just learned to call you "uncle"—
who would you tell these happy stories to?


The day I really die...
When you feel like dying yourself, who would you sulk and tell that to?
And even if you did tell someone, who would cry terribly upon hearing it? Hm?


What you pack in your lunch box when leaving home for office in the morning,
what you eat for lunch, whether there's too much sugar in your afternoon tea,
which café you have coffee at in the evening, which colleague fell in love with whom,
what delicious food you ate at which relative's house,
which poem left you stunned when you read it at night after returning home—who will you tell all this to?
Who will you tell that day...
that you too have heaps and heaps of pain hidden in that breast pocket of yours?


Suppose I really do die, then...
Will you keep remembering that someone
used to wait hours and hours for you once upon a time?
Someone would arrange the flower vase in the room, would wrap
your bath towel around their body, would wet their lips
on your cup and keep you pressed against their lips?


Someone would secretly nurture sorrows in their chest?
...You'll remember all this very much, won't you? And thinking of all this
you'll wake up in the middle of the night
and bury your face in the pillow and cry silently, so very much?


Damn! Why am I crying? Look at this, thinking of my own death...
I'm crying myself...
just because you would cry!


You know, if I suddenly die,
so many of my words will remain unsaid!
These burning scars on my heart will remain unseen by you!
These eyes brimming with so many tears will rot uselessly under the earth!
A heart broken with pain will just melt away into dust.
...Can you imagine?


Listen carefully!
If I leave before you do, that day...
don't cry. Not at all!
If you cry, this rotten heart will still stir and move!
And my soul will writhe in agony!


So, this is what I'm saying...
I'm assuming the deal is sealed! When I die, you won't cry one bit.
...Will you remember this deal when that day comes?