Treasure Island

Nikhil Parekh

(27/08/1977 / Dehradun, India)

after death


There was a time when I emitted my first cry; with my mother hoisting
me high
in the air,
Now I lay on the forlorn ground unattended; with scores of black
cockroach
crawling over my face.
There was a time when my flesh was as rubicund as the crimson rose;
with
innocuous saliva dribbling from my mouth,
Now I resembled a disheveled heap; with a fleet of pugnacious vultures
hovering above my head.
There was a time when I rambunctiously played with an ensemble of
contemporary
toys; my elders pampering me with crusts of creamy chocolate,
Now people passing viewed me with dismay and utter repulsion;
inadvertently
showering rotten leftovers of food over my face.
There was a time when I used to voraciously scribble infinite lines of
literature; profoundly absorbed in composing verse every day,
Now I was strewn on the tarmac like a decayed parchment; having
relinquished
all my power of envisage and perceive.
There was a time when I used to dress in ostentatious clothing;
overwhelmed to
gyrate to the tunes of blaring music,
Now I wasn't even able to hear the slightest of sound; the tiniest of
movement; with a blur of darkness camouflaging my eyes.
There was a time when I sporadically laughed and cried; easily provoked
by the
most impeccable of joke,
Now the blood seemed to have frozen in my veins; and the contours of my
face
had gone completely lifeless.
There was a time when I used to hold the impregnable hands of my
mother; to
cross the busy traffic lanes,
Now a fleet of bulky vehicles ran over my body; and I didn't shed even
a
solitary tear.
There was a time I had insatiable craving for exquisite food;
irrevocably
longed for fried steak all day,
Now the buds of taste had shriveled on my tongue; and I had been
without water
for several days.
There was a time when my blood was incessantly boiling in my veins;
with the
boisterousness of youth prompting me to execute irascible decisions,
Now a series of bones protruded from my wrinkled skin; and It was
impossible
for me to raise my hands to drive away the most insipid of buzzing
flies.
There was a time when I spent each day of my life incorrigibly loving
my
beloved; spending marathon hours in the day nostalgically reviving our
initial
romance days,
And now I lay listless and languid on the earth; having thoroughly
abnegated
worldly pleasures; waiting for the creator to grant me heaven or hell;
after
my death. 

Submitted: Thursday, August 14, 2014

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Topic(s): poetry

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