‘He who tenderly crafted those 17 syllables gems’
His eyes used to light up, a certain sort of joy I could sense (see) in them. Those black eyes, ah those black eyes they twinkled whenever he used to show me his new creation, his new haiku. Someone once commented on his blog that brevity is a gift and he, certainly, was a gifted man.
He often used to call himself ‘subtly insane’ and I could not help but agree with what he said. His art of crafting poems awestruck me and often they invite me. His work was (is) like a massive sea and I can’t help myself from not getting drenched in it, drown in it.
Music was in his blood, music was his pulse, music was his food. An ardent Heavy Metal fan, Death Metal to be precise, loved Cannibal Corpse to death.
Tarun adored his loved ones. It feels like he will call me today and check if I had had dinner or not. He can go to any extent and by any I mean any to help his family and friends.
My phone will not ring any more, my phone is dead forever. It misses you friend, it cries and howls. My ears yearn to hear the ‘hullo’ the oh-so-convincing ‘hullo’, the excited ‘hullo’. You are and will be everything to me friend. This void, after you have gone, cannot be filled.
But I promised you. I will be strong for you are here for me with those 17 syllables gems of yours.
For Daily Prompt: Dearly Departed.