12 days ago
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Five more months have passed since Irfan’s death. His son Babil continues to share his father’s memories on social media. Now Irfan’s wife Sutapa Sikder has posted a very emotional post on Facebook. It is a poem by Nobel Prize-winning author Louis Glax. It mentions the suffering and state of mind of a widow.
Check out this post on Instagram
I’ll tell you something: people are dying every day. And it just started. Every day, new widows are born at the funeral home, new orphans are born. They are sitting with their arms folded and trying to make decisions about this new life. Then they are in the graveyard, some of them for the first time. She was afraid to cry, never cried. Someone leans over, telling them what to do next, which means saying a few words, sometimes throwing dirt in an open grave. And after that, everyone goes back to the house, which is suddenly full of spectators full widow sitting on the sofa very neatly, so people come forward to her, sometimes holding her hand, sometimes hugging her. He always got something to say, thank them, thank them for coming. Mind you, he wants them to go away. He wants to go back to the graveyard, to the sick room, to the hospital. He knows it’s not possible. But this is his only hope, the desire to step back. And just a little, not before the wedding, the first kiss. #NobelPrize #Celebration by Lewis Glock Life and death
Shared a post Sutapa Sikdar (@Sikdarsutapa) PDT on October 8, 2020 at 5:19 am
The poem that Sutapa wrote is something like this-
I’ll tell you something: people are dying every day and it’s just the beginning. Every day new widows, new orphans are born in the crematorium, they sit with folded hands and try to decide about this new life.
They then took place in the cemetery, some of them there for the first time. They are afraid to cry, they can never cry. Someone supports them to tell them what to do next, which sometimes means saying a few words and then throwing mud in an open grave.
And then the house full of spectators returns empty-handed, the widow sits on the sofa, people line up, sometimes holding her hand, sometimes hugging. He finds everyone saying something, thanking them, thanking them for coming
He has something in his mind, he wants to give it up. He wanted to return to the cemetery, came home to the hospital with an illness. He knows this is not possible. But this is his only hope, the desire to go back. And not just a little bit, not before the wedding, before