By : Amrapali Saha
There is colour in those drooping eyes
Too stark, too white, upturned and white
Staring past new books and unpaid bills
Gazing at framed faces dappled in the afternoon sheen
Windows open in winter time
The cold, cold wind creeps in from afar
Freezing the water in a grimy glass
Putting off the fire that cooks the broth
Unseeing eyes, wrinkles like disciples
Gathered in reverence at the altar of life
The sacred fire dying out
Fast, too fast, for the mind to grasp
He packs his bags but there is nothing to pack
Maybe a few smiles or an affectionate kiss
But these we must leave with those seeing us off
At the dark, lonely terminal gates
How does it feel like to be a dying man?
Do you feel relief or count your regrets?
Can you hear the sound of your cracking bones?
Or is it distant laughter that rings in your ears?
They will be gone too, as will you,
They will hear the clock stop one day
Time will breathe death into their ears
Then they will join you in a journey unknown
Dying man, take comfort in our mortality
Soon, very soon, we shall also come with you
Lead us like the one who parted the sea
Where there is a promised land for all those in agony.
(226 words)
©Amrapali Saha
Entry for Kora Kagaz- The free flow writing event