And The Becoming

I see these worn out faces, Dried and some still wet Chocking shrieks of loss, Numbness in their voice Not bonded by blood Or show of any pretence, But Delicate colored strings, Evoking a stronger bond Smell of spirit and sanitized floors, suffocating and stifling. The hall was full of saddened faces; despaired and disheartened. Some had hope, and for a few, it was buried a long ago. Patience, time, emotion, space, everything was at a stand-still. There were long queues, and the sitting area was crowded by patients and their relatives. Nauseated. Yes, nauseated was I in the midst of these people who were either hanging on to hope, or were preparing for the journey of letting go. Life and death had a thin line dissolving every minute. And, here were ‘her’ people, sitting in one corner of the hall, waiting for her body. She was a partner to one, guru to a few, leader to many and a friend for a lot of those who were waiting there to say their last goodbyes. I knew her for...

Balancing my being on the rope I walk One end buried to the sedimentary rock Other tied to Kafka’s metamorphic form But with my blinds on I continue to walk Knocking at every door of uncertainties Stifled ways and wrenched meanings Nauseating reasons often haunted this path But with my blinds on I continue to walk Searching eyes found no sign of peace Empty stomach where void starts to breed Your absence shadowed me at every step   But with my blinds on I continue to walk