Dear Emily, I hear no buzz here. Just a swish of the machine near that has mechanically tuned into the eternal silence of this room and the world beyond. No chariot awaits me, but invitations pour in from people I haven't seen. Strangers who resemble me. Hmm..Wait.. I have seen her on the wall! Yes! my mother's mother's mother. (No one cares for my English here even a whimper is welcome) She is standing there but my hands cannot reach her. I lie still with white around me. My body is numb. They call me 'vegetable'. Cucumber, Brinjal or Carrot? (Please..not Carrot..I don't like its taste. I remember throwing away the carrot halwa) Yes! I know, I qualify as a Drumstick. (Mumma, that was a joke..Please laugh) I hear my mother crying "Mumma, don't cry." That hurts me more than all these tubes poking my organs. Emily, I have read you. I sound brave, don't I? Your verse simplified death. Butt...but...bb... Em
Celebrating the self with a different beat! In each breath, each step.