Disclaimer: The poem’s mine. And only mine. So don’t steal it.

Author’s Note: This is from my POV, I guess – I learned today that one of the Spanish teachers at my school died of cancer recently, so this is my little tribute to her. And the “them” in the poem is the aforementioned teacher and my Spanish teacher.

The next thing you know

one split second

and then they’re gone

It was always on Fridays, I remember

that he played music for us

as a sort of relaxing thing

and also as a learning tool –

for we were listening to Latina music

and every day, they would stand near the doorway

when I came in, breathy from walking all the long way

from the gymnasium to here

or sit in the classroom

and talk

whether it was about politics or anything remotely of that sort

or the curriculum for the Spanish classes

and the department

while sipping their coffee

luxuriously and relaxingly

while the rest of the class jabbered on animatedly

about sports, how their day was so far

anything out of the blue, really

that you could think of

And I would sit and read a comic book

lost in my own world

my own thoughts

my own feelings

Little did I know that exactly a week later

there would be no coffee talk

there wouldn’t be anybody at all.

Not anymore.

Instead, there would be no feeling of comfort

no feeling of being at home –

only sadness, reminiscence and remorse.

And shock

that still lingers

from the absurdity, the abnormality, the absolute untruthfulness of it all

To us, it seemed surreal, unrealistic, unbelievable -

how could this have happened to us?

to them?

Why them?

The closeness that they shared

as friends who chatted about anything under the sun

while drinking coffee

Why us? –

but most of all, why them?

A blink of an eye, that was all that took

and the only thing left

was silence.

For, we learned then,

the next thing you know

one split second

and then they’re gone.