Remnants of war

The remnants of war,

frozen but still explosive. 

Deadly legacy.

Linking with Photo Challenge #468

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha 

Fledglings of Falcon

The wailing walls of Sirhind,
stand in sombre solitude.
The howling chilling winds,
the numbing weeping waters of Sarsa,
bemoan and grieve.
Eternally condemned
and permanently blotted,
these coffers
rocked Thy tender kids
to quietus.
The supple souls,
seasoned spirits,
and their ominous farewell,
Soil of Sirhind,
(fortunate enough
that such pious feet
walked on it
and regrettably unfortunate
to have become their deathbed) ,
witnessed
what we dare not dream.
Unwavering, unflinching,
unswerving and unyielding,
subtle yet strong,
the fledglings of falcon.
embraced their pallbearers
with smiles on their faces.
And this is their legacy.
They were bricked alive.
But they never died.
And never can they.

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha 

Rest in peace

A blessed soul of the community departed. He was a saintly spirit and Lord Almighty had graced him with the gift of music. Even though he could not see, yet he was so good at his craft that he was revered. I remember the sheer excitement which ran through my folks when he visited the town. They made that extra effort not to miss the time allotted to him in the Kirtan Darbar. With every breath he thanked Lord for the blessings He had bestowed upon him and it so seemed that every timehhe sounded more blessed in his craft. Unwavering in his faith till his last breath, he became a legend for the community. I, though not a very committed member of community, do cherish the times I heard him sing Gurbani and Shabad. And I don't know why, today, I feel that void in me, a bit of hollowness like I lost a distant relation, some faraway family member. My 100 words for his Faith...

‘Tis faith that inspired,
instilled the spirit,
to fly, even with broken wings.
And it is with faith alone,
that the fluttering whizzing,
was steadied.
Faith, that guided his hands
so that he strummed
those melodious hymns
that sang Thy praises.
Faith that granted vision to his heart,
to see Thy generous face
in the rising and falling octaves.
And it is with faith in Thee,
that he walks today,
through the Golden Gates of heaven,
leaving behind vacuity and silence.
Angels weep out of jealousy,
as they meet Thy Chosen Child.
Forever Yours,
he is now, forever with Thee.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook : 100 words 

Farewell

You were born.
And your birth made him so happy
that he cried.
He held you in his hands
with reverence.
And he spent every second
of his short break
looking after you with love.
But you were too small, too infantile,
to register the word father.
Then he left. For his duty.
Service to family over,
it was time to serve the nation.
He had served his family with love.
He served his nation with sacrifice.
When they brought him home,
wrapped in tricolour,
the sad commotion surprised
the wide eyed toddler in you.
When they laid him in lobby,
you crawled up to his motionless body,
gently shaking his shoulder,
as if he would wake up from his eternal slumber.
When they laid him in coffin with state honours,
you patted the wooden box, repeatedly,
to hear the dull thud
your small hands made against rough wood.
Recognition, zero. Outright organic innocence.
That stirred the souls of the entire nation.
You may not recall this when you grow up,
but we do hope that you become his shadow.
Conscientiously dutiful

Yesterday night, he slept

Late again.
But her colleagues knew the reason.
So they did not seek explanations.
A middle aged woman,
experienced both in life and workplace,
stood at crossroads.
This was the least the office could do.
The patriarch of her family
had been admitted in semi-coma condition last month.
Only last week the doctors had sent them home.
“The hospital has done what it could do”.
It was prayer and serving and support now.
Prayers and life support machine.
Alive.
His heart beating, eyes blinking
blood flowing in the veins,
if it is called living.
Yesterday we exchanged a word with her.
“We are waiting, someday now he will ask of us,
He will wish for his favourite food,
He will recognize us”.
Yesterday night he slept.
And never woke up.
Today she was on leave.
Will be for a few days.
We observed a two minute silence dutifully
and proceeded with the day.
But my thoughts keep drifting
to that kid in her
who was waiting for her father to get well soon.

Memoir

Smitten by her loquacious eyes, I committed my life to her, and for a good 30 years she helped me traverse this circuitous journey showering unfathomable joys but how swiftly joy and sorrow alternate and before the blinking of eyes, she receded to a painting hung on wall but sinking into oblivion would have been denigrating to our "we" time so I chose not to wallow in her sorrows and took to exploring the Himalayas and while the demons of her memory stalk me continually, I am glad she still joins me in circuitous travels, she with those loquacious eyes.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook: 100 words challenge : Demon

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook: 100 words challenge : loquacious 

Epitaph

I shall always live,

Through my words that I whispered,

Will you remember?

Linking with Haiku Horizons: Remember

Orphaned by cancer

Raivat Kumar.
No, not a very renowned name. Just another homosapien amongst the crowd of billions. Inconsequential perhaps but probably notable for family and us friends.
Raivat lost his mother that day. Rather his mother lost the battle against cancer and yielded to the tyrant malignancy. One more instance of death by cancers. Won't alter the statistics drastically. But will definitely be tumultuous for Raivat and his younger brother. To unimaginable degrees.
One moment, she was there. Sick, pale, weak, failing but present, warm and breathing. Her heart beating, though erratic but pounding beneath that hospital gown. The next, she wasn't.  Cold and stiff but absent. No breathing. No rising and falling diaphragm.  No heartbeat. Not even a faint one. A pin drop silence in vacuum. Sudden, swift, screaming silence.
Raivat clasped her fingers in his own. But she did not squeeze them back. He shook her but she did not stir. He called her but she did not respond. The heart negated the lack of stimulus, sleep, exhaustion and the likes of it. But the brain had processed the workings of electrocardiogram. Silently, the truth had seeped in. His eyes blurred. Tears stained his cheeks. And he made no effort to wipe them away. Perhaps his tears would bring her back from dark lands. Perhaps she would want to wipe away his tears one last time. Perhaps. But there were many perhaps lurking in her untimely death.
The flames on the pyre flared. Sublime now, the elements consumed her. Each claiming his share. A few hours later, she was reduced to a handful of ashes. A handful of ashes. Nothing accompanied her. Her needles. Her crotchet. Her spectacles. Her sewing machine. Her pestle. Everything stayed behind. Reminders of her being. Reaping of her life. He looked at the smoldering ashes and wondered if her memories of life spent with them would accompay her in her journey. Or had they turned to wisps of smoke with her? Did she think of them in her dying moments? Had she wanted to tell them something? Had she speculated her end? Had it pained her to leave this life behind? The questions hung heavy over the sooty remnants.
For a few days, he ached to hear her voice in the empty house, living in flashbacks. But then he adapted himself to the silence. To the misshapen rotis and cold daal cooked uncaringly by the maid. To no one bothering about his day. To the void around him. To the numbness. Ofttimes he sat like a retard, not comprehending his present sans her wisdom. Other times, he let his grief wash him over.
Someday he would marry some girl. But his mother would not be there to welcome his wife. There would not be that  adorable nagging between his mother and wife. No insecurities about daughter-in-law.  She would not be there to play with his kids. To tell them tales and sing lullabies for them. To teach them  pearls of wisdom. Would his kids ask him about his mother? For them, she could easily be a star in the sky or some beautiful angel. For him, a huge hole in his heart that will never heal. A picture on wall. A photograph in some album. A hand in his hair. Extra ghee on his roti. Homework on his school notebooks. Words when his voice failed him. Anger when he did something wrong. Pride and joy on his achievements.
So much unsaid. So much undone. So much unseen.  But one fine day, cancer came knocking and swept her away. Just like that. A flicker called life humbled forever.
That day, Raivat lost his mother. Raivat Kumar. A speck amongst a billion others.

Death/life

Thousand hollow words,
And oddly connected dots.
One warm wide embrace.

Etchings on tombs

For all that remains,

Fancy forgotten tombstones.

The dead frequented,

Often by birds and ravens.

Etchings of being fading.

PHOTO PROMPT – © J Hardy Carroll

Linking with Friday Fictioneers

Tides rush in

The spirit lingers
The oceans breathe, tides rush in
Waves swallow this flesh


Linking with RonovanWrites

Beyond sunset

Tiny sailboat drifts,
Fading into horizon,
Wandering into unknowns.

When the sun has set,
All our labors turn to dust
Like waves return to oceans.



Linking with Friday Fictioneers

Shadow-play

Cloaked shallow contours
Shifting through the stage, until
Stilled, as shadows be.



Linking with Picture it and write

The last hurrah

She savored her stay with us.

Every single moment.

A slight pause,

Miniscule almost.

And then

It was time for her,

To wander

Beyond the horizon,

Behind the sun.

I still remember her last hurrah,

“Alright! 80 years of heaven are up”