The last word this one spoke
 was my name. The last word
 that one spoke
 was my name.

 My two friends
 had never met. But when they said
 that last word
 they spoke to each other.

 I am proud to have given them a language
 of one word. A narrow space
 in which, without knowing it,
 they met each other at last.

I love the simplicity of narration in this poem. I also like it because I can relate to it on a very personal level. Some of my closest friendships were made during my time in Bombay and, although each one was special, often many of my friends had little or no knowledge about each other.

Now, over a decade later, I have lost contact with many of them. Yet, many of these people have had their paths cross and my name was mentioned and a connection was instantly made. They now share with each other the friendship that I once shared with them individually. The talks over coffee, the walks in the park.. :)

And I feel proud too…that I was instrumental in some way, to bring them together. In their friendships…my own friendship has been kept alive, nurtured and sustained.

— Salima

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[Bio on MacCaig]

Norman MacCaig (1910-1996) was one of the major Scottish poets of the twentieth century. He’s remembered with great affection not only by the modern generation of Scottish writers whom he helped to develop, but by thousands of people who encountered him in school, and for whom he was the first poet they’d seen who could write in an unpretentious way about ordinary things and make them astonishing.

Link for more poems by MacCaig:
http://www.jacobite.org.uk/maccaig/