I waited. Yes I did. For some news to put here in the new year. The outpourings in the shape of the first few words of 2013. I was in my teaching centre falling into a day-dream. And then it happened...
The screen of my cell-phone showed the name of Kulpreet Yadav as the cell woke up from its New Year's slumber. "Mo Tejani is no more!" The shell-shocking news caught my voice unawares. Kulpreet went on to say that our writer friend had succumbed to a massive heart attack at 2.30 am on 1st January.
I rushed home, my heart bursting with the news. I wanted to share this with the others. The group message box in Fb showed some waiting text to be read. Andrew Bond, one of our writer friends had already put up the sad news.
We shared the sad music of our hearts by filling the vessel called Mo with our tears. However, Mo's personality was so endless that our tears were ashamed as it failed to reach the brim to overflow. Mo was filled with humour. And his life always gifted him with sudden surprise risks at most bends.
Each and every word that we exchanged in the message box were insufficient to Mo's sky-reaching personality. Now I realize that each and every moment of life is to be cherished. This realization came this time from our departed friend, Mo. Funeral flowers were given from us by one of our writer friends residing in Chiang Mai.
Here is a tribute to Mo in the shape of a poem from all of us the AP Writers community.
The screen of my cell-phone showed the name of Kulpreet Yadav as the cell woke up from its New Year's slumber. "Mo Tejani is no more!" The shell-shocking news caught my voice unawares. Kulpreet went on to say that our writer friend had succumbed to a massive heart attack at 2.30 am on 1st January.
I rushed home, my heart bursting with the news. I wanted to share this with the others. The group message box in Fb showed some waiting text to be read. Andrew Bond, one of our writer friends had already put up the sad news.
We shared the sad music of our hearts by filling the vessel called Mo with our tears. However, Mo's personality was so endless that our tears were ashamed as it failed to reach the brim to overflow. Mo was filled with humour. And his life always gifted him with sudden surprise risks at most bends.
Each and every word that we exchanged in the message box were insufficient to Mo's sky-reaching personality. Now I realize that each and every moment of life is to be cherished. This realization came this time from our departed friend, Mo. Funeral flowers were given from us by one of our writer friends residing in Chiang Mai.
Here is a tribute to Mo in the shape of a poem from all of us the AP Writers community.
Mo,
the Humorous Bomb
A humorous bomb is a bomb
which is built within you from the moment you are
born.
And when a storm from Uganda attacked you
this bomb kept you alive
because it was fireproof
it was bloodproof.
It gave you courage, this bomb
it confidenced
you, this bomb
it united you, this bomb
it loved you, this bomb.
This bomb
became your passport
your beloved
your friend
your son
your daughter
your father
your mother.
This bomb made you sing
it made you dance
it made you play.
And you told Idi Amin,
“You may go to hell.
I have my humour
a stronger bomb
and you cannot destroy me.”
And with your bomb of humour,
you united the people around you
you got us drunk with your humour.
We laughed aloud
danced with funny caps
and cartoon sunglasses.
We tapped our feet in your rhythm.
We became you
because you became us
with your love.
YOU HUMOROUS BOMB!!
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