Lament

My body no longer holds a place on this cold ground. It is only my soul whose heavy steps shall
linger in peoples memories. The merit of my being has reached its final breaths. The fire no longer
burning bright but rather scorchingly painful.
*
The maestro has long left his tool, her heart now silent. Despair the most probable thing.
The climax of one’s life may not be their 20s, 40s or even 60s. The climax of one’s life could very
well be the moment where their corpse lays there on the floor they took their first steps on or that
soft and warm bed where they once rested that fatigued body. The moment they lay right next to
themselves, reflecting back on all the regrets, achievements, highs and lows. The fracture of a
moment.
*
Today, her tears were not alone. As they trickled down the cold rosy cheeks, raindrops gingerly
started accompanying them. Sobs making them veer every now and then. The small brook of tears
etched in lament, cascades from her eyes and finally forms a small stream along her neck. But one
drop escapes. Plummeting onto the cold ground, it gently seeps through the soil, bits getting
soaked up by the the touch starved specks, kissing them lightly. But it suddenly comes to a halt. A
barrier. Another cold surface, yet it held a distinct warmth and softness to it. Someone’s chest. But
it doesn’t hold the same rhythmic movements, if anything, it seems eerily lethargic. In fact it is
completely still. The tear rests on the lifeless body, both encumbered by the stench of death
surrounding them.
*
Line
Walking on a blurring line
Slowly finding myself fading away.
Screams, to this room confined.
A game I no longer want to play.
Step by step i shall hand,
My life on a silver platter
In exchange for a holy land.
The line between reality and my imagination
Oh how faint it looks
This is not how it was written in the books
I hold no recollection of such aberration
I pick up words here and there
How come they flee my thoughts so fast.
Holding an empty stare
As life saunters past
Leaving my soul bare
Kneeling, I brush my fingers against the walls of this dimly lit room. The clamour that wasn’t there
but now is the only thing I decipher. The smallest movements formidable to the timorous entity. In
that very moment, laying there right next to myself, reminiscing the first cry of salutation and now,
the last breath as a farewell. The fracture of a moment
Let this end, let it get to you.
Acquiescing to the lingering lassitude, the rest slowly fades away.