A Life in Three Movements

 

I. What Remains

My head—

God knows what it holds.

Rotten memories, perhaps,

of bygone days.

Where are those days

of my younger self?

My torrid affairs,

my haughty being?

I was a beauty once, you know—

no one could ignore me.

My tongue was sharp,

my temper short.

I could dance, sing,

control it all.

Today—

I am not even a reflection

of that self.

My memory is locked.

I keep forgetting.

II. The Day I Walked Out

That day came.

I took the plunge

and walked out of my door,

never to return.

I wanted my life back.

To be able to

freely board the bus,

go shopping,

visit neighbours,

and do whatever

I wanted.

I had forgotten it was Sunday.

I just wanted to go out.

In a hurry,

I took my bag

and my bank papers.

I even forgot

my favourite—

my phone.

Listlessly,

I continued to walk,

traversing

the tricky pavement

and the shuttered shops

till I reached the crossing.

Something had shifted.

The careful me was gone.

The light was red.

They say

someone called out,

tried to stop me,

the police waved frantically.

I don’t remember.

Only a sound.

a car,

too fast,

too close,

and then-

air,

impact,

the hard edge of the curb.

When I woke,

I was in a hospital bed.

Outside,

the world continued—

I never stepped back into it.

III.  Something is  Missing 

My head—

God knows what it holds.

Something is always missing.

Faces slip away.

Names don’t stay.

I was a beauty once…

wasn’t I?

With blank stares,

I sit all day,

looking at walls.

I have stories

I cannot tell.

No one calls—

not even

to say “hi.”

I wait

with cloudy eyes.

No one knows

what goes on in my mind.

I have lost control

of my being.

Eat, sleep, TV.

TV, eat, sleep.

That’s what my life

has  turned out to be.

Reduced to Nothing.