The story is now part of a short-story collection available in black-white and coloured prints and as an ebook. I will share the links soon.
Tag: Loss
The Gingerbread House
The little girl looked at the gingerbread house on the display through the glass walls with eyes brimming with longing. This year, she had neither a house nor bread.
Photo by Dilyara Garifullina on Unsplash
The Night Bus
I took the night bus
draped in my wedding sari,
still adorned with the jewels
my parents had scrounged for me
over the years,
breaking their tender hearts
for raising a daughter unworthy.
I sought you
and the answer to
why I wasn’t enough for you.
I hope, they wouldn’t
cremate my body
before I reach you.
Photo by @5tep5 on Unsplash
Until
Every night
I lie on my back
awake
next to where
you’ve been laid,
watching the stars,
waiting
for one to fall.
Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay
Alone
I watch the flock of cranes pass by,
and search with them for a warmer hearth
where welcoming arms may await me.
I think of you–
a life lost to ambition.
The chill of winter creeps up my spine.
No arms would welcome me
anywhere.
I am here to freeze alone
in my own company.
Moonlit
The moon is beneath my feet
as I tread carefully
down the silver road
afraid to dispel the magical calm
that holds me together
and stops me from falling apart
from your thought.
Quietly,
I step on the stars
that fall on the way
to my place of rest,
never feeling the burn
of the amber beneath
my bare feet.
My mind’s numb
and so’s my heart
with the chill
that surrounds me.
Once the water rises
filling my emptiness…
We’ll see…
Black
She was sitting next to where you lie, mother, all black, serious, and still.
I wanted to ask the traitor the same questions you would have–why she wasn’t around while you were still alive; when you needed to snuggle with her; when you cried for her all night?
But then, she had been out pursuing lord-knows-what.
Now, she finds the time to sit next to where you lie, mother, after you closed those beautiful eyes and left to pursue lord-knows-what; all teary-eyed and seeking forgiveness for neglecting you for all those lonely years; bringing fresh flowers; trying to take my place in your lap.
You could hardly blame me for scratching her face. I wish I had taken out her eyes…but they looked so much like your own.
Photo by Howell_eddie on UnsplashÂ
The Nutcracker
She wasn’t ready to part with the nutcracker yet. Everything else was sold—the house, furniture, expensive clothes, and shoes—the reminders of their years together.
But the nutcracker they had bought on their last Christmas together before he went to the war…and came back in a box… ‘He’ would stay and bear witness that she remarried but never moved on.
Photo by v2osk on Unsplash
The (Un)Departed
The story is now part of a short-story collection available in black-white and coloured prints and as an ebook. I will share the links soon.
Little Things
I had always been like that–
Building shrines
For dead butterflies,
And visiting
With the freshest flowers.
You had been like that too,
Loving me for little things,
Until you grew up
And I didn’t.
Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash
Short Stories | Fish-eye Perspective 