The Burial

Its been 2 years! seriously!

Rewind. Play. Rewind. Play...sometimes slow sometimes fast forward....

The dry drooping flowers in a vase whose water has gone stale stare down at me. "We stink within a week of death. The stink stays for a few weeks, the patchy stains for months...but its been 2 years. The stink is gone. The feeling is dry and numb. Now let go. There is no recognition. Just give it a decent burial."

But they were real, alive, full of life...with a sweet scent and vibrant colours. It wasn't the showy plastic ones with forced sticky dew drops. They changed with the changing water...or perhaps the stem were not long and strong enough...

How do you pick up the pieces of dust, which brings water to the eyes, irritates you at times and sometime hurts you inside...? Like how? And what about the dried thorns? They still pierce deep and make you bleed.

So i look at them yet again, pick up pieces from here and there, unable to throw them or keep them close to me...wishing to find the right undertaker for this mammoth task...

And the burial comes back to haunt..

Why didn't i burn them? And end all physical connection. Not a coffin stone, 'cause the coffin gaped open at the first jolt of the earth, and it came back to the top.

Go away! Just go now! Leave me to myself...let me not burn in this fire...let me not get charred...

Friends, Indians, Countrymen

Lend me your ears

i have come to bury it all...

and here it ends

no ashes remain...