Nikhil Parekh - Indian Poet
There were cubes of white ice strewn on the floor,
melting into paltry amounts of water when licked by Sunlight,
transiting into a solidified mass when kissed by the placid moon,
i entered the room with a hand bleeding profusely,
inserted my palm beneath a slab of frozen liquid,
thereby ceasing the flow of trickling blood,
eliminating stabs of bursting pain with inexpensive plaster of ice.
i was engulfed in a coat of mud slurry,
tonnes of broken debris lined collar and scalp,
ugly sores and bruises projected from several parts of body,
that's when i decided to step in the steaming shower,
scrubbed myself with huge tablets of antiseptic,
cleansed traces of moisture with blow dryer guns,
despite my valiant efforts,
the blood i noticed was still oozing.
i then applied stingy amounts of my mothers ashes,
which i had diligently preserved years after she died,
a magical transformation took place,
the scenario to witness was priceless and spellbinding,
the stream of flowing blood froze in its roots,
hard crusts of brown now replaced the torn pulp,
tears of gratitude rolled down my cheek,
she still cared for me, couldnt see me in agonizing sorrow,
she was still there with me in my time of distress,
sleeping with a celestial bliss in those grey ashes,
which i had stashed safely within lock proof interiors
of my cherished safe.
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Her Healing Ashes
Her Healing Ashes
