Her eighty candles sputtered
on the chocolate syrup.
Her wishes mutely uttered.
The birthday cake was lit up.
The knife in her restless wrist.
And eyes could no longer feign.
Tongue found it hard to resist.
She was one year old again.
Happy birthday mother dear.
I know you are somewhere near.
Her picture hung on the wall
staring silently at him.
Her memories caused tear-fall-
sweet, salted, spicy, untrimmed.
The echo of her laughter
hummed like a musical chime.
But the pain felt thereafter
for she left before her time.
He flipped her frame with a sigh
to calm his watery eyes.
Gazing out seeking no one-
he sat by the tall windows.
His brows betrayed what he yearned.
His eyes saw just her shadows.
His ears perked up to a song
that played somewhere far away.
She used to whistle along,
and would always make him sway.
He sipped his kapi and smiled.
He would meet her down the mile.
The purple coffin shined bright.
Its hinges greased with brass oil.
The cushions of satin white
descended into the soil.
The craft lay six feet under
with the carvings neatly sketched.
To this earth it surrendered.
Its image forever etched.
The vessel and the good soul
were heavenwards set to soar.
Time to pop a few bottles of champagne
as the whistle blew and the game ended.
The winners rejoiced, the sulkers complained.
The losers were silent and offended.
It seemed more like a tussle than a game.
The attire turned into battle-worn rags.
Old friends rivaled for just a sip of fame.
Players seemed different under their own flags.
This sport is intense but was much more fun
when skill was an art and not a number.
The play was bigger than the trophies won.
How this changed - it is hard to remember.
Colours of fervour with a new flavour.
Rivals in sports turned rivals forever.
The mummy woke up after centuries.
Its eyes wide open which were once white stones.
The oiled linens had shrouded its stories.
Time to unwrap and stir the lazy bones.
It slid open the coffin with a hiss,
looking everywhere anxious and forlorn.
Here lay the priests, soldiers and
the old wiz.
But amidst the royals it felt alone.
It rattled along in this old chamber
looking for the queen it had cared for long.
If she could just wake up and remember
this old soul who was with her all along.
It sat by the queen like it always did.
Then heard the queen moving her coffin’s lid.
End of the street was a blur.
She looked and stood in despair.
Quiet night, the moon’s murmur.
Yet he felt cold from her stare.
But she found him more scary.
He stood at the other end.
Looking bizarre and dreary -
this oddball who would befriend?
Each innocent, yet afraid.
Into the dark night both fade.
