Chapter 130அதிகாரம் 130 துக்கம் Grief

As the tongue searches the gap where a lost tooth was, so feeling searches for what has been lost.

The heart may forget the dead; seeking the dead is the work of the fingers.

A channel cut for water that never came is a loss the world does not know.

She said a word kept for the dead child; what was born was the old habit of her mouth.

In the Tamil, ‘dead’ and ‘born’ echo each other in sound: the child has died, yet something is still born.

On the mat, the hand reaches for that face; its fingers touch the face of the wall, droop, and come back.

Those who tell someone who is weeping to stop crying are like those who tell a fire to stop.

When love has no home, only tears give it one.

After the rain has stopped, water still drips in the shade of the tree; the heart too has known weeping like that.

The name of the dead, said and said until it is familiar, in time thickens into a scar on the tongue.

When the river’s waves settle, the stone beneath them shows; when grief settles, the understanding of it shows.