The White Horses

By Shaswati Sharma

They always come to me, wait for me patiently, go around
Again the next day—they fill me with more horrors while I lay in my bed.
Pitied, one day I said, “Don’t you see, everyone is smiling out there? Why don’t you go along?”
It’s as if I lied to them—and this time, they snatch away that child of mine too.

Five days passed. My mother said the same, like them. I said, “Enough!”
Why is everyone taking their sides? Confused, I turned on the lights, gasping for validation.
A white frock, a smiling child stands in front of me, holding my fingers.
She takes me along to the market, where she wants to buy some white ribbons.
She watches me and says, “How many should I buy?”
Confused, I rubbed her hair and said, “Buy the red ones.”
She smiled and said, “Will that make the white horses angry?”
I smiled, “They won’t reach you now. Wear the red ones…!!!”