Death Domesticated

For my sister’s mother-in-law who passed away by the attack of cancer.

I wanted to domesticate my much awaited death;

To stop just ‘being’, to stop my breath.

Here the heavenly herald was heard.

Those hysterical hearts hopelessly cried.

It was, in the beginning, boring; books,

Then sought treats of fruits and nuts.

Along with mounted medicines more

And angels-white with what they wore.

The hands got bound, thus books bid bye.

Mild music, then, filled my heart and eye.

Men came crying, calling and cursing.

White flawless flowers fed me fluttering.

Green- without and within- gazed me gay.

Darlings, dare not dream; I’m not any day;

For, they, those things surrounded me,

Do not, into their little talks, invite me.

Room to room; calm, critical and then calm.

I looked at the lines lay lengthy in my palm.

The night train deadly dragged and delayed

‘Help poor passengers’, to Him, I prayed.

Blood multiplied, more and more multiplying.

Doubling the re-doubled was done for dying.

I felt proud, I, prime passenger passed.

Time to trace out, what my deeds have caused.

Path by my piercing pain was paved.

I saw a golden tree* trimmed-fade.

There ended her visions in her external eyes.

‘Thing’ got covered and crowded with cries.

*According to some folk tale, dying people have a blurred vision of a golden tree.