The Faded Flower
She was resting on those worn-out walls, her stooped back touching the wall. Her old wrinkled profile was showing that innocent face of her's. She was swinging her legs and looking at the shadow of her's. She was expression-less. The old lady moved to her side and sprawled on her bed which was cranky with all her clothes. Her old ragged Sari was going to rip apart in a few more days. She lied on the bed but never did she close her eyes. She just lied there. She was lonely. Her eyes told that as she came up with tears. She was lying on the wooden bench and was looking up at the 4 wall room. Her color-less hair was all out. All that was new in her was only those salty drops of tears that were out. She melted like wax from a candle which did not need her anymore. Her mouth was open. She lied there, not moving a bit. She kept quiet. Her hand had nothing which belonged to her. It was very long before she was into paradise. She was a showcase of peacefulness. Her profile was all down as she got up and went to her rusted iron cupboard. She drew open her cupboard which had nothing but a set of the same kind of old saris and a small bag. She ploddingly bore the bag and took a photo from it. She went back steadily to her bed and her petite framework clasped the bed sheets around as she sat down on the bed. She groaned, as her muscles overtook her. Her sunrise which had dawned a few years ago had clouds filled with rain now. And her tears ran through, spilling the rain out. She perched on the bed, like a bird on a tree. The tree had all of it's leaves shredded. Her leaves shredded on the ground of life. She was solus. Her figure collapsing as she welled up with tears. She lay on the couch. And lay there. And she never got up. Never did her body come up again, as it did before. Never did she charmingly smile, as she did before. Never she lived, as she lived before.
They asked him who he was.
He replied,
"Her son."
He returned with his photo and the burnt ashes of her.
And She Never Lived.
She was resting on those worn-out walls, her stooped back touching the wall. Her old wrinkled profile was showing that innocent face of her's. She was swinging her legs and looking at the shadow of her's. She was expression-less. The old lady moved to her side and sprawled on her bed which was cranky with all her clothes. Her old ragged Sari was going to rip apart in a few more days. She lied on the bed but never did she close her eyes. She just lied there. She was lonely. Her eyes told that as she came up with tears. She was lying on the wooden bench and was looking up at the 4 wall room. Her color-less hair was all out. All that was new in her was only those salty drops of tears that were out. She melted like wax from a candle which did not need her anymore. Her mouth was open. She lied there, not moving a bit. She kept quiet. Her hand had nothing which belonged to her. It was very long before she was into paradise. She was a showcase of peacefulness. Her profile was all down as she got up and went to her rusted iron cupboard. She drew open her cupboard which had nothing but a set of the same kind of old saris and a small bag. She ploddingly bore the bag and took a photo from it. She went back steadily to her bed and her petite framework clasped the bed sheets around as she sat down on the bed. She groaned, as her muscles overtook her. Her sunrise which had dawned a few years ago had clouds filled with rain now. And her tears ran through, spilling the rain out. She perched on the bed, like a bird on a tree. The tree had all of it's leaves shredded. Her leaves shredded on the ground of life. She was solus. Her figure collapsing as she welled up with tears. She lay on the couch. And lay there. And she never got up. Never did her body come up again, as it did before. Never did she charmingly smile, as she did before. Never she lived, as she lived before.
They asked him who he was.
He replied,
"Her son."
He returned with his photo and the burnt ashes of her.
And She Never Lived.
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