A Memoir Of This Year Poem by Aimanu B. Ali

Standing at the threshold
of the new year
I looked back down the corridor
of this year dying,
like the man on the death-bed
counting the knell of his last hours.
And I tried hard to recollect
the few sweet memories
as I once gathered the jasmine
strewn on the grass to make a garland
in the mist hanging autumn morning.
May be I tried like the man preparing
a farewell speech for the dead foe
to be buried soon, groping for words
like the blind in the deserted lane.
I took a plunge like the fishermen
hunting for pearl in the ocean
my hands were almost empty
only the greatest of the pearl,
my friend my faith enveloping
my whole entity like a soft warm blanket.
At least I will not enter
into the new year empty handed
with my friend by my side.