He died in his old age, still young with a smile brimmed with love. Trying hard to grab breath, he lied there, eyes opened. He lend me a gaze for a few seconds, just before the last breath. For the last time, he too took a profound inhale as any other dying person does. I concluded, this is the end. This is the end of an exclusive island of innocent love and care of my life. Every element seemed frozen inside his room, his white covered bed, an ash colored small box and his red purse, all bearing the ancient smell of him. I stepped down from his room to the veranda. Looting his pleasant smile, the full moon shined over the universe. After a full day's funeral rituals, I came back to his room. There something made my whole being burned.Rather, it is at the place where memories fume, we feel the heat of missing. It was all silent, like his last breath. It was all pale, like his dead face. My actions were encumbered by the unreal summoning sound of him. He too is gone with umpteen number of stories untold and told. Centuries later when I see some yellow saplings sprouting from the womb of the earth which bears his dead life, those untold stories may come in intuition unto me, which will blossom in his complexion which only we can decipher.....
Sangeetha
