HANDS

I came to my senses when the orange spark had extinguished and had taken with it the dance of the smokes. The light was still there, in a mood perhaps to linger a little bit more. This time I followed the light and my steps stopped behind a closed door. I had my answer. The light had already begun to fade. I opened the door and welcomed the air in. I gazed at the sky which was still bearing the red of the sun and blue of its infinity.

Last Updated on October 11, 2021 by Sangita Ekka A person can die between the pages of a notebook and still keep breathing. This death is mercy. The existence is fired up. Smokes do not carry the traces of burnt words. The last moments are breathed out in a hiss…

The men I know have stood by me at my worst; filled me with inspiration, angered me to the extent to set my demons free; given me intuitive suggestions (a quality I seriously doubted they could possess), have pampered me with the food they made and also introduced me to the lighter sins that we all must commit in life.