Tell me,

If the skies opened

In the moments before you died

To tell you,

That you are about to be collected—

 

Who

Will you call to say goodbye?

 

Who

Will you need

To come and find you,

To hold you close,

To love you as you leave,

To not want you to leave at all,

To cry for you,

To hope for you,

To forgive you—

 

To make it easier.

‘Of course it will be okay.’

 

To promise

That you lived well,

And that you will be remembered—

 

The one

Who will tuck you in,

And kiss you goodnight

And whisper sweet dreams…

Leave the light on, please—

 

Tell me, darling.

Who will be

Your last infliction?

 

Who

Will be the one

To watch you die?

An art student in Bangalore—wouldn’t exactly call herself a definitive anything, but rather likes to mooch around and poke things with a proverbial stick; ferreting about for new thoughts to fall in love with. Has a particular inclination towards simple, fuzzy, yummy words that like to come by and play in the sandpit.