sLIGHTly opENED dooR anD sOME peanUT shaDOWS

Water pushed by the hands of breeze, waving waves, Grey cloud frozen on the sky, his mother’s body is still burning. Fire eats her skin very slowly, slowly like a move of  early morning mist. He avoids crying in front of these people.

Whether a death is considered as a question or answer? These questions and answers never die. I always like to live like a question without an answer. A doubt creates one question, that question creates one answer, but that one answer would develop more questions. Answers are all toxicant, a very slow poison which eats our mind to drag us in to a numb world. All the questions don’t have a long life to help our doubts, like a stone which thrown into a deep silent lake. We never tried to count the questions which we buried inside us. Is it still alive? Those are converted into heartbeats or tears or smiles, I think sometimes.

This death made me to sculpt many questions. I didn’t try to concern the shape of it, but I do to pull my pains. He is my father who is standing in front of the fire and doing the final deeds. A man who is living with his expectations, now, he is watching his mother who has no shape, no beats, no voice, no identity. I decided to drag me out from that place because of the continuous push of my emotions.

When I was with my grandmother, she used to say she will watch me even after her death. I laughed at her to tease her more for the death promise. What she meant was totally unclear to me till now. Tranquilly I tried to console my memories. Anyone can easily find the warm words to show the affection between a grandmother and grandchildren.

Many times she smelt my forehead and kissed my fat cheek.

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