Goirick Brahmachari's "Divorce" never says plainly what happened. Instead it piles up comparisons, one after another, as if the speaker keeps reaching for a way to describe the feeling and nothing quite fits. Hollow earth, a broken instrument, a mountain storm, a December that never ends: each image points to emptiness, damage, or cold.
The speaker seems to keep returning to the same places, "to fight memory," which suggests a mind that can't leave the past alone. The line about a pancreatitis attack is the sharpest shift. Grief stops being a mood and becomes physical, sudden, and painful. "Like a life gone wrong" is blunt and almost tired.
The ending is the most interesting part. "A song about a gong / So long, so long" turns to sound and rhyme, almost a nursery-rhyme singsong. It feels like a half-joke, half-goodbye, where the speaker laughs a little to get through the pain. The overall mood is bleak, restless, and worn out.