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...
Emily, I am scared.
I have given up this fight.
Beeps,signals,alarms
-----------------------
Someone hold me tight.
Don't let me go.
This quicksand is sucking me fast.
The darkness of my grave engulfs me.
Helloooooooooo....
Wait.Please don't leave me alone.
I am scared here.
[Pause]
I am in a long queue.
What? Registration Counter...here too?
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...
Emily, I am scared.
I have given up this fight.
Beeps,signals,alarms
-----------------------
Someone hold me tight.
Don't let me go.
This quicksand is sucking me fast.
The darkness of my grave engulfs me.
Helloooooooooo....
Wait.Please don't leave me alone.
I am scared here.
[Pause]
I am in a long queue.
What? Registration Counter...here too?
another different beat :)
ReplyDeleteloved the narrative quality of the poem...n the subtle imagery u employed ...
yet i have doubt, it may not be that significant..:P
I was wondering about the voice that s heard in ur poem..first i imagined it to be that of a child's, somewhere i felt that the voice belongs to an adult...:)) ...
thank you Neetha for the comments..feels gud to kno dt u loved d narrative quality...
ReplyDeletedear...u meant the theme is not significant? i kno...jus scribbled nd didn wnt to let ma blog go inactive...
waitin to read ur lines...:))
no da...my doubt ws not concerned with the theme..
ReplyDeletewhat i found confusing was the 'age' of the speaker in the poem ( that's why i said my doubt is not that significant)
first, i thought it was an adult who s stranded between life and death, but somewhere i felt it ws a child who s speaking about death and numbness ..:) ...
anyway that doesn't matter at all :)) coz it is a lovable poem..
good that u didnt want to let your blog go inactive :)
ok...the age of the person ws nvr an issue fr me..u wanna see her as a child..do so...as an adult..do so...wt mattrd to me is d moment u realise u r no more gonna b in ds wrld...n i didn wnt to make it sombre eithr...:)
ReplyDeleteEnjoyed it Farah, Sorry for the late reply as my net connaction developed some complex allergic tension with computer..
ReplyDeletei have often thought about this whole feeling about death, the moment when u loose grip of it, when whole world of this sophisticated machinary cannot hold that simple puff of breath.. in fact i have often tried to scribble around it, though most of the times it was for me not about holding on to it, but the ironically tragic fate of not having control over it, when u want to loose it, but still it holds on, as if sticking back the broken mirror using fevicol, brittle but tragically alive..
waw..waw..waw...!!! dt is a better way to reframe d whole thing...hey..dont jus back out...come up wth a full lenghty poem...wanna read...:)
ReplyDelete