The last thread…

“That last thread that keeps you connected is always the hardest to snip.”


Devoid feelings.

On the greener side of the grass,
She once had lied.
On the paler side,
She’d once cried.
She stood in the middle now,
Surrounded by fallens leaves,
And broken boughs.
A web she tries to weave,
Of unspoken tales, crumpled dreams,
Dimmed hope
And silent screams.
Her forest where butterflies once flew,
And mockingbirds sang,
Had been burnt down to ashes,
A place where silence now rang.
She could see them working in the distance,
Their machines and them.
Building a concrete jungle,
On nature’s land.
A tear escaped her doe eyes,
She saw the herd mourning behind.
Casting one last glance at the sorry sight,
She led the way with doubts on her mind.
She trotted away,
With a heavy heart.
It had always hurt,
The ‘walk-away’ part.
For, animals have feelings too,
They cry when their homes are destroyed.
It is humans
In whom feelings are devoid.


The Last Memory.

He was sorry for her. Sorry that the winds had brought in layers and layers of dust with them and now, she couldn’t sit on the sidewalk the way she used to; hugging her knees with her back to the grimy wall and sometimes, crying her heart out. The makeshift blanket of fallen leaves that she’d made had flown away with the cold, stormy winds. He’d always wanted to be the dust when he died, to be everywhere at a single moment, breathing through every pore, scattered everywhere, carried over the winds, on mountain tops, across the seas and rivers, lying on the forest floor, but now, now he wasn’t so sure. He’d been seeing her sitting at the exact same spot for the past 3 years, no matter what the weather, but today was the first time she wasn’t there, she was instead sitting under the bare tree at the corner of the sidewalk. Everyday, when he thought she was fast asleep, he’d leave her a 10 rupee note from his daily allowance. Today, when he saw her sleeping against the tree, he ran home, sneaked out a blanket, tucked a note in it and quitely placed it beside her. That night, there was a knock on his bedroom window. On opening it, he found the blanket and tucked inside it were a fallen leaf, a dried flower and a plastic bag full of 10 rupee notes. He looked up to see her standing under the street lamp, she waved at him with a sad smile on her face and walked away and somehow, he knew that was the last time he’d ever see her. In that one moment, he knew what it was to love and to lose.