Poem: Thirty One

This thing, that I cherish, turns thirty-one. Etched in my being for eternity. A quiet first memorial.

Poem: Thirty One. ( April 18, 2025)

Thirty-one is an important number.
It comes after thirty —
When thirty was the last time
We traveled together.

Thirty-one is the first, after.
Unimportant for you,
still important for me.

Here I am, alive,
with a beating heart —
A year after that ride back.
Today, I’m on the same train.

Next to me, an empty seat.
My laptop that carries my stories,
and books that carry others’.

This moment is another milestone
in a history —
that will outlast
our final breath.

Because a question still remains:
What is it to be with a person
who loves for love’s sake —
not as an investment,
not for help
when we grow old?

The question that begs an answer.
The question you once asked.
The question that becomes immortal.
For the answer is
eternally locked in your heart.

Today, I remain alone,
and the question hangs over
the green of the fields
that blur with the confused colours
of the evening sky.

The sun that traveled alone,
buried in the orange blush,
has given up for the day.
Perhaps, it could take
the empty seat by my side.

Then I remember
the eternal question
that you asked in whispers —
will search for its answers
forever, in silence.

But I know —
I am the answer,
that travels alone,
when thirty turns
to thirty-one.

~Ashok Subramanian © 2025