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Eight Months and 364 Days

Ananya Gupta

Grrr… Grrr… Grrr….
As the liquid rumbles around me,
A strong gush of blood interrupts my sleep.
I can feel my portable sleeping bag,
Moving back and forth, heavy;
Like a swing, a lullaby
Instituting my daily reverie.

Maa,
When I leap on the outside,
Cover my eyes with your soft hand,
For they’re only adjusted to the dark,
I’ll hold your little finger,
As you walk me round the world, where;

There are colors which are not black,
The air which is invisible, yet infused
With the fragrance of roses and lilies ,
The cold breeze by the ocean,
The tickles of golden sand,
Lodging our footprints as we stroll by.


Maa,
Make me Baba’s favorite biryani,
For I’m weary of these pickles,
Teach me the songs you sing,
When you’re alone by the bed,
The rhymes which Bhaiya hums,
The lullabies which drives me asleep.

Maa,
But teach me to hold back my tears,
For I’m not too fond of crying,
Like you are right now,
As you lay on the bed,
I wonder,
Why are you so scared!

It’s the hour of smiles and laughter,
Merry faces and content souls,
As finally it’s time,
For my descent to my dream land,
Where I can wander freely,
Isn’t it, Maa?

But before she could even answer,
A voice from the other side of the room blurted,
“The operation was successful”
And as the lights went off,
It was dark yet again!


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