Monday, March 05, 2007
the silent poem.
Even my sisters’ hands fail to transfer any warmth into me, as she holds my hands, inot her soft pudgy hands.
The sound of mom walking towards the room is a sound that brings relief to me. It’s a bit like poetry in the middle of silence somewhere.
No one knows what to say after sometime, and neither does anyone know what to do. Only mom runs around taking care of all the people. (some people who were’nt even wanted there).
Sometimes there is a sad poetry in silence. Atleast I could hear one on the 1st, as I lay on the bed trying to fathom the loss I will feel forever. Once more.