Rafiki's Lament

This picture says a thousand words and more, to me and to the ones I'm thinking of right now.

It's been more than ten days. It was impossible to believe till I actually read the obituary notice, but I've learnt that acceptance and all those other things I mentioned in my last post do not automatically follow belief. There's a sense of semi-anger (against the world in general), there's a sense of isolation born from the fact that I'm several thousand miles away from where I want to be right now, there's a powerful sense of injustice about this entire thing. And I'm working through it all. If anything, the workload's grown... which, I guess, is a good thing. It's like there's this veil between me and the everyday world I'm living in... so I come across as my usual self to the people around me all day; but in the evening, when the lamps are lit and the work's over and when most others are putting up their feet and relaxing, I'm grappling with a single-word question:

WHY?

I, who always have words of courage and solace for almost every one in pain or fear, have none now for myself or my family. I still don't know what to say. I'm still aware that words cannot fill the sudden abyss and mine still sound rehearsed and hollow.

But, Rafiki does mourn. Rafiki mourns - but, mutely.