A Few Hours More

I laid there.
Silent.
On my bed with nothing but a drape like thing on my skin.
He was sleeping like an angel, right on the small little bed beside me.
Yet he looked like an angel.
Like a myriad of stars are spread across his face.

I wanted this all my life.
Just lie down somewhere where there is no noise.
Just gaze, wander and worry about nothing.
See him sleep like my daughter slept,
With her face resting on my chest.
Without a crease to see of worry.
And occasionally smiling, like heaven said him the sweet words of love.

But today I see creases on his forehead.
Like wrinkles in the old and obsolete cloth.
Wrinkles of, "She has a few days in her hands."
Wrinkles of, dieing within, 
The twists of not growing old with me.

I want to watch him like this a few hours more.
Even minutes more will do.
The dark patches under his eyes of rubbing my hands and feet for days.
I want to go to him and tell him for one last time,
"That I will love you till the end, and beyond."

I saw my mother coming in, with that same worry she had since I was a kid.
But now, she just patted my forehead.
I could see her lips quivering.
I could see her worrying for him, who has been like a son to her.
I could recall how she forever screamed at me.
And I would protest and scream back.
But now all I want is her to scream at me.
Scream at me, "That how could I be leaving them in maybe a few minutes?"

My sister and father entering,
But now I can't keep my eyes open.
It feels like I am flying to a land unknown.
He has woken up.
All I can hear is the faint sound of him.
A faint touch of kissing me, the very last time.
A faint noise of my mother finally screaming but to her almighty.
A faint noise of a bunch of doctors rushing in.
Slapping on my face to wake me up.

All I can see is their happy faces now.
The time my mother baked my birthday cake.
The time my Dad said, "You are the best!"
The time I saw his red blushing cheeks for the first time.
The time I heard him say those words for which I am still the luckiest girl alive.
The time I exchanged my rings and vows with him.

But it is time for me to bid adieu.
And at last I see the light.
And at last I feel myself releasing.
Releasing through the syringes in me.
For once I am not a Hindu, a brown, a caste.
I am a spirit!
Just a spirit!

_/\_/\______________________________________
 

When my Room Spoke Up

Who am I?
Just a room.
I am the one with just four pink walls.
I am the one who made to accommodate.
Accommodate her in specific.
Accommodate all of her.
She came in with her warm smile,
Excited to dress me like her kingdom.
Innocence and fear of making me her friend forever.
She danced around in the empty me, 
She danced around when she filled me with her other belongings.

But this girl was not like the other people I have embraced.
She never slept in me.
But often she came inside, with the highest of her emotions.
She came in with a storm in her.
A hurricane of rage.
With a vessel full of despair in her.
She came in with her not perfect but melting smile.
She came along with her dreamy eyes,
Thinking of going and escaping the cage she is into.
She came in with the dilemma she had with her hormones.
She always came in with the stupidest 
To the most wildest of her dreams.
She kept me the most untidy, but also decorated me with her dreams.
She came in with the magic called HOPE.
Where she lied heartbroken but yet saw a ray of hope.

I saw her being the most strong girl and turning into a punching bag.
I saw her battling everyday, with her illness,
With her love, with her imperfections, and specially her mother.
Who once had been her best friend and now turned into her greatest fist of rage. 
I saw her making love to the man,
She woke all night and talked to him,
So that he stays and they live happily ever after.
She had all those gossips with her sister who is also her best friend.
In me.
Where I stood watching her.

She cried all night in silence, hiding her face in the pillow.
But there..
I stand there, with just a curtain to flow on her face and make her realise,
That I am always there.
But I am me.
A room, a materialistic beginning and end.
I can only be personified,
But cannot pacify a broken soul like her.
Or cannot laugh in her merry making.
I cannot sway with her when she talks to him romantically.

But despite of my helplessness.
I am man made, a man made me devoid of every human feeling.
But they forgot.
Walls too have their ears.

I am a room.
But today I speak,
Through the eyes of the ruler,
To whom I am a silent slave.

The First Feelings...

I had been that lonely warrior.
Who had survived the earthquake, storm and avalanche.
Who had seen her reflection in the snow.
It was just me.
Always, in the mirror, in the reflection,
I saw me.
The girl, just an ordinary girl that I have been.

I didn't know what this type of numbness was called.
Loneliness?
No, not that I was left alone.
I was a puzzle unsolved.
Waiting for the missing piece to be in place.
Waiting for the every 'first' feelings,
To be feelings after all.

Someone who would waltz with my soul,
Someone who holds my face like a frame does to a picture.
Until, one day, when I completely believed that I will be unsolved forever.
Came he, out of the blue.
He came from the cloud 9.
Which I thought never existed.

Stepping in the ballroom shoes, which fitted my waltz.
He became the frame which beheld me.
On which I could lay my head, and he held me like I don't need,
Any other frame.
He came like the balmy breeze, which eased my pain.
He became the morning sunshine,
The first sip of Coffee, which rushes through you.
He became my moonlight, the beam of light which showered upon my lips.
And made me smile.

Amidst of all the storm, he stuck like the autumn leaf on the ground.
Like the sand to the sand storm.
All night I lie awake.
Just seeing his face all day and night long.
Caressing through his hair, thinking of his angelic face,
Confessing what we had for each other all night.

Through thick and thins we have been together.
Through every thorns we walked together.
And then we knew, what goes around comes back around.
Has to come back around.
We are made together, and will be together.
With rings of the holiness.
With promises of togetherness of life.

We perfectly imperfect.
But can't live without the imperfections.
It is like,
You have been my own brand of drug.
Like my own brand of heroine.
Like my quick rush of adrenaline.
Like the blissful first kiss.
Like the first summer rain.
Like the first blossom of spring.
Like the the feeling of wedding ring!