Like a single piece of sugar cane if chewed repeatedly is sapped dry , and mouth is filled with dry flaky strands , that image with no promise for the future was dry, it would not suffice any more. Like a beautiful silver photo frame with an absent photograph.  She longed for the freedom of madness, like screaming in a silent concentrating classroom, or dancing to a sexy song inside a chapel or slitting her veins in a buddhist monastery, or sleeping on the lap of a stern monk. She could not even cry, it was like wetness was taken out of water.

She heard commands like “Don’t forget, remember this, never do this, always do this, Don’t do that, don’t ever do that” so many mnemonics to remember, always remember, no one had taught her to forget , there had to be a school to teach that.She remembered her third standard friend’s phone number why , she did not know. She had collected greeting cards meant for a boyfriend, lover, husband over a span of several years, each purchase a part of the script, half truth, some day it had to be in right hands, and become a full truth.She did not pity the dead, she pitied the dying. She could sleep only after dreaming, it was a habit of sleep hygiene, practiced from childhood. Now to reverse the order, was hard, she needed a teacher, she sang some lullaby to her self. But one had to be awake to sing! Her mother stirred “Why are you awake? You will look ghastly in the camera”Damn, all the gods, and their wives, some with a harem like Krishna.

She picked up the pepper bottle on the table, tore one small part of the calendar paper wrote the date and wrote an emergency novena of infant Jesus in it, made a cross with toothpicks tied in a loose thread from her petticoat and opened the window of the hotel and threw the bottle out, hoping that the bottle flew to some wandering angel, he better hold it, her sleep was in it, and his dream would slowly reach her eyes. May be she had packed the dream in it, sleep descended on her,like a Christmas gift, through the chimney, stealthily, like her lost love.

A dreamless sleep, silent like a prayer hall.

11 thoughts on “GRIEF

  1. take a bow! your posts are always well constructed, but there is something about this one that got me right from the first line. i love this. especially the line, “She longed for the freedom of madness.” what follows this line and ends with, “it was like wetness was taken out of water,” is just sheer poetry. there are also certain metaphors in this piece, though subtle, that complement the motif of – grief engendered loss of mind, as in a “wandering angel.” brilliant piece.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s