HIS FIRST ONE

They were both in bed. Together, after a long time! Entangled under the crumpled sheet…

She set it right, “How many have you had on this?” It was a valid question. He didn’t mind it.

“None”, he honestly replied not forgetting to underline it with, “since you went”. She knew he would do that.

He had to pause before he could ask, “You?” A momentary silence… not that she was under the obligation of pausing like him. Yet she paused.

“Its difficult.” That astounded him. He had always known her to be the ‘black and white’ kinds – one who always thought from the periphery. This ‘grey’ answer was unexpected. It sounded deep and invoked a meaning. It was a welcome change, though it came late. The right time was already gone and the change was irreversible.

They hadn’t moved yet. She broke the embrace. “A couple of them”, she muttered turning her face away.

He didn’t know how to react. She didn’t care. And now he was searching for a question to get back. He had found it. Perhaps he was just looking for the courage to ask it. He mustered some after a few empty moments,

“Was he one of them?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t remember.”

“What does that mean?”

“They were all the same, like you. I always felt I was with you. There was no other way I could feel satisfied.”

“Like me?” He got out of the sheet and walked away.

She cried the entire night. When he woke up in the living room in the morning and came into the bedroom, she was still sleeping. He went under the sheet again and took her in. He pressed his cheek against her chest. That soothed him – like always, whenever he was with her.

That woke her up. She looked down at him, caressed him, ran her fingers through his hair and let out a lazed murmur. He was taken aback. The voice was not her. He looked up at the face. The face was not her. It took him some time to realise it was not her.

That was his first one. After she had gone!

LIFE OF DEATH

Death lives on
In those living,
Like a loss
Breathing forever

Like a pit
Living to tell the tale
Of the mud that was,
Like a black hole
That doesnt exist
And proves it is.

Its the negation
Of everything that is,
And yet it is!
Its the loss
Of that that was,
Thus it gains!

Its gone now -
the moment that was.
The presence of now
Reminds me of the absence of
the moment that was.
Death thus lives on
And I continue to die
Every moment of
the moment that is.

I remember
as I die now,
When I died last
I lived on forever
with the memory of that, which
I remember now.

While I live now
remembering memories
memorising remebrances,
to remember when I live,
I wait to die.