By Jiya Narang
In my epiphany, amidst the swathes of simpletons and their dulcet chatter on the busy street,
I saw her, donning a dress achingly white.
Her hair wiry blonde,
Frazzled by the fray, she fidgeted with the hem of her garment lest her world would tumble down.
There she was, sitting on the bench like a poignant odyssey of the wafting daylight.
Life, oh so fragile.
The sweet sonder I was struck by,
Watching her from afar, gripped by a sense of trembling vulnerability.
A scintilla of hope emerged from her abyssal eyes as she saw a frail woman walk out of the hospital,
Life leeching out of her crooked limbs as she held onto her walker.
Yet the calm washed over her wrinkled face, looking at her beloved child.
Her lips parted in a wistful smile akin to the daystar shone on the brine.
The daughter dashed towards her as if the ground crumbled beneath her feet,
chipping away at the very foundation where she stood.
Taking her into a warm embrace,
She didn't let go.
As though for the very last time, their hearts beat in unison,
Oblivious to it all, that mine does too.