personal
The Night Before Laughter Died
Call me cheap… but I plunged into deep sadness when Diane Keaton passed. So I wrote this poem about it, and it’s what happened the night before I found out.
the night before laughter died,
it was going giddy in my mind,
as I microwaved a plate of rice,
and a smoked fish floating in oil,
I saw it sipping some red wine
in all these years, the night before laughter died,
I worked on a dream to meet it alive,
well, I failed, yet, the arts I kept with utmost delight,
the lines, the jumps, the squeals, the screams; bliss,
oh, larger than life that, each time,
the stars, the sun, and the moon,
would blow the world kisses
the night before laughter died,
I struggled to enjoy dinner,
a raven sat outside my window,
taunting me to light a candle,
fear; nothing I could do
the night before laughter died,
I sought to escape from gloom,
a reel, a tune, a phrase, an image,
nothing could obliterate the doom,
I wheezed, I coughed, I wrote,
a piece of news would unravel soon
the night before laughter died,
I heard it one last time,
“Oh well… here I am… still… you know… handling it… carrying on… squealing…”
I replied, “Is this your way of saying goodbye?”
“Oh, yes, it is!” it said unapologetically, “Isn’t it fabulous? Isn’t life so fabulous? Haha! Good God! Haaa…”
the night before laughter died,
I shrugged it off and went to bed,
hoping for it to mess with me in a dream,
yet, it stole my sleep away,
the freedom in me screamed
I woke up the next day, feeling refreshed,
“Oh, pancakes! Pancakes!”
what a relief.
I turned reality back on, and there it was,
silence and grief; fear bit me at last,
but then again, I said to myself,
“Oh, silly me… What are you even doing? Who are you? Shoo! Shoo! Enough of all this nonsense now… because… pancakes are in the house…. Holy cow!”
Pancakes.
Oh, wow.
Laughter.
Took its last bow.