I once met me who stopped by
just to narrate a dream,
"After the two days of mourning,
my friend just went to work,
accepting that I won't be at there
today or the coming days.
On her way she stood at the cafe,
staring at the picture on the
glass window, of coffee
being spilled out of the cup
in the weirdest way,
I saw her smiling, probably
of the joke that I made of the picture.
But she kept going, smiling
at people that we were familiar
with on the way.
She had the sympathetic conversation with the ice cream seller at the crossroad,
And their words carried my name
as the most important syllable.
She did this for two days,
and just let her life going
with some occasional
mentioning of my name
like a guest role.
So did my maid,cat,and books.
Their new caretakers sympathised
for being abandoned unexpectedly
and got thrilled at their new ownership.
My picture was framed and kept
at the most attractive
corner of the house,
they looked at me and talked to
me like taking a pill.
I felt happy at the anniversary
and the second anniversary
and the anniversary after that,
but never for another.
They were all dull and boring
and less genuine like
the food served at those.
All went with their lives,
except some who
also did the same
after one or two years,
of drinking and other addictions.
And I saw faces,of me,you and many at the wall watching
how invisible we became
in the lives we were so visible
and smelling the seasonal
roses that we get
and shaking hands with
people we forgot likewise.
And that time the cookies
tasted different".
And thus she patted my shoulders
and whispered
"We are all worth two days of mourning"
A.C
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