By Beena E.S.
A grey afternoon,
wheels rumble over cracked asphalt,
on a busy road where lives intersect and scatter.
horns blare, engines hum, the bus shudders forth,
inside, voices rise like a tide, strangers sharing fragments..
fragile secrets, unspoken wishes. bags rustle; phones buzz..
a kaleidoscope of emotions swirls in the air.
vendors yell, hawkers hustle, bikes snake through lanes.
it rains, soft at first, then steady..
beads trickle down the pane.
a halt at a bustling stop,
vehicles flow in and out,
the air.. a bitter balm of hope and despair.
sirens wail, ambulance lights flicker, a heartbeat away.
resting on the headrest, i glance through the
window.
my eyes fix on a lady
in an orange-red saree, pleats unpinned,
grey hair wild as untamed winds, deep-sunken eyes, dry cheeks..
leaning against the compound wall,
lost in thought,
a tea mug cradled in her weathered hands.
my heart races, swift as a stallion's flight.
for whom does she wait in the heavy rain?
has she stood since dawn?
how long has she been waiting?
a loved one lies within, battling for breath?
her eyes search for a visitor, a flicker of hope.
memories rush back, tangled within chambers bound by silence.
crumpled chits clutched at the entrance,
corridors stretch like veins through X block, D block, G block..
room numbers 13D, 20X, 5E, 7A-
flicker in fluorescent light.
emergency rooms pulsating with urgency,
the pharmacy’s endless line,
faces worn thin by the weight of waiting,
lining up for countless tests,
shuffling between counters,
each step a pilgrimage through hushed halls of hope and fear.
each space holds its own scent-
the sting of antiseptic cutting through the air,
laced with the lingering sweetness of cleaner’s touch,
a hint of stale food from unfinished plates,
the weight of sweat clinging to dampened sheets,
and the bitter trace of waste-
discarded syringes and gloves-
piled in dustbins.. red, white, blue, yellow.
new cries and soft farewells converge,
the hum of machines weaves through the air-
a rhythm of life and uncertainty entwined.
caregivers move like whispers, their soft steps echoing in corridors.
with steady hands and gentle hearts, they mend,
soothing the broken, helping souls bend.
their quiet love, a beacon in the fray,
guiding light through life’s uncertainty.
each room holds a story, a heartbeat.
some cling to faith, hearts steady,
others adrift in fear, lost among sterile sheets.
loved ones gather, lighthouses in the storm,
holding hands with fragile prayers.
the burden of bills looms, a haunting shadow-
a constant reminder of fragility, more than blood and bone.
beyond glass doors, silence wraps like a cloak,
each second stretches taut with expectation.
a whistle.. the signal for the driver,
the bus moves
i pop my head out the window,
my gaze locked on her.
she stands.. frozen, drenched in whims and fear,
her love endless, yet worn thin by time,
each breath a thread,
tied to a never-ending prayer.
the destination arrives, but memories cling,
lingering in the air like the last light of dusk,
a weight both familiar and piercing.
tears pool in the corners of my eyes,
reminding me of the toll of endless hours.