It’s all Water under the Bridge

Tanvi Padia

Under the yellow streetlight, I say goodbye to my pillow, etched with wrinkles and
greyed with dust but I cannot bear to part with my red blanket. Wrapping it
around my shoulders, I shiver a little in the cool breeze, hastening before the light
breaks free. I tread across the railing of the bridge with intentional, light, quick
steps. On an empty stomach, with a full mind, I tie the red blanket at the edge of
the rod of the bridge, forming a loop. Passing it through my head, I jump from the
bridge to board my approaching train. A hitch in the breath and I shutter my eyes close
to the voyeurs of the accusing and sympathetic glances. I can still hear the
thoughts swimming in their heads when I look upon the earth from my seat at my
assigned cloud.

A stranger in the air,
Queries quieted,
With silent answers,
Levitating from the bridge.

A body at rest,
A soul in peace.
“I fought and fought,
until I fastened the knot”.

He reached his destination,
Chasing the dawn,
Winning his race,
Ahead of others,
later than his brothers.

“It took you long enough,
But you fared well.
If not west,
But in the east”.

The struggle was long,
The relief very short-lasting,
Called me home,
The one I sought.

Author’s note: In memory of the nameless, faceless stranger I saw hung by a red cloth by a railway bridge at dawn on my way to college for my literature exam. R.I.P.


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