When every victory,

Every first time,

Every ‘we made it’

Is tinged with melancholy

Because the one you lost wasn’t there

To cheer with you,

To celebrate with you,

To praise with you,

Savour the victory,

Taste the triumph.

Care not for the bitter taste of loss

That threatens to curdle the sweetness of success.

It will only spoil

If you let it.

Refuse to let it.

Refuse to become jaded

After his presence has faded.

Be alive to taste

To feel

To celebrate


© Na’ima B. Robert