I remember the time when I defined tragedy as a celebration.
An aliquot of blood was taken with a flat face.
“Oh poor lady, what a bright smile you have.”
I was like a lost sparrow in her kingdom.
A kingdom on the verge of losing the queen.
But the battlefield of life is definitely not a shrine!
At the edge of coaxing, being the only accommodating of her bed.
I slipped into the glory of her old and fierce aura.
A thousand stories around the world started crumbling when the hospital heard her language.
“You must have been a diva in your time.”
Shyness was reflecting from the oxygen mask pretty well.
“Am I the only one waiting to hear her story?”
But romance was already buzzing around someone.
I kept going with the wild imagination of her days,
stirred by the letter she kept below her memories.
That pillow was indeed her all treasure.
An old earthy yet musty dream got all my heart.
“Incomplete story was there.”
Was it her first love? She never married because of him, is she still waiting?
Quenching the overflowing questions.
“Are you still in love with him?”
Sparking eyes finally said, “Abalone, my constant.”
Peace and turbulence gathered together as the narration went on.
“For me, love is the color of hope and a thread that connects two dead ends.
He is the only poetry I know, the only expression I can show.
I will walk forever with my stories inside me.
A face with dreamy eyes and his white hoodie was the first click.
I fell for him that day.
Petrichor and our first interaction, raw and pure.”
“See, I am smiling like an idiot now!”
Moved by the warmth of love. I carried on the conversation.
“I am lucky enough to confess my love to him.
No matter how things have ended.
I just want to give this letter to him.
Can I ask for a miracle?
A letter I wrote when he left suddenly.
My unsaid emotions, roar, sigh.
The last wish!!”
The last rain was the poetic translation, never responded.
The letter died at a young age,
“But one hour mine, mourn the reflection of amour.
Mystic presence, grieving the warmth and dried fleur.
Thou art, the rain, sink in the misogyny and pain.
Stain of love, the last drop on your lips,
filling the gap of goodbye.
Sun doth parched, nothingness in being pluviophile.
Hazel eyes drowning in the classic storm of goodbye.
Up and down, like a lifeline,
“Oh! Cherie, let’s dance along the shore”.
Sailing the memories, quenching the icy drizzle.
Mask the heaven with the hugs now.
With all triumphant, yet, you are mine!
Let’s open the door and see the symphony,
skip the beat and dive into an epiphany.
Escaping the rhythm of drizzling darkness,
the shortest night in the long weather misses the splendor seen.
Proud, set me in the last you.
Adieu, my love!
Let the confetti confess the love at the funeral.
Oh petrichor, make a bridge.
Let the cloud die once, no black no white,
Now you, me, and the shine.”
Clutching that letter she hugged her eternity.
It was an autumn feeling everywhere,
Everything was falling off.
Yet, something is blossoming.
The ashes of that bond became chariots for her.
Through the years, the unchained melody finally met the lyrics of her life.
Oh, look! Blue Hawaii, somewhere in time,
favorites are dancing.
Finally, under the season of rain, somewhere over the rainbow, they kissed.
~Anju Kumari
India