Siblings who lean toward
each other
still remind me to lean
on your strength,
but as I move
toward you, I
find myself
grasping at air.

It has been four years
now that you have
left us, body lying on
a hospital floor in
Bombay city. I know

you loved symmetry
and science and would
have been pleased that
you were born and died

in hospitals, in the
city of your birth.

While we recover
you have already leapt
into new worlds
undoubtedly arguing
your point of view
speaking with angels
and demons
that religion and science
could co-exist that
in the West we
are too closed,
in the East traditions
hold back 
growth.

Even while we
pick up the pieces
I hear you
laughing
sorting
pushing
against all
boundaries

until we pushed
back
begged you
to let go a while.

So now
you rest,
bemused
at our loss.

Walking down a steep path
to the beach you harvest
sea crops: smooth dark
stones driftwood
glistening shells
fill a backpack
you scramble uphill
with your bounty. Back
in the city you
set out twisting curving
shapes amongst
salmon gladioli
eyes resting
on leaves rippling
in the wind.