Treasure Island

Jasbir Chatterjee

(4 March 1966 / Delhi)

Life and Death


She lay dead
On the cold, hard floor,
All through the chilly, wintry night.
Quiet, still, rigid, oblivious;
Eyes shut,
Cotton wool thrust into her nostrils,
Sindoor shining brightly in triumph
On her leukodermic forehead,
Freed at last
From the burden of living,
From her painful, asthmatic existence…

The sun rose up,
Shining softly
With an orange hue,
Gently reminding us to let go…

She lay dead
On the cold, hard stretcher
Upon a chilly, wintry morning,
Quiet, still, rigid, oblivious…
Held secure with strings,
Draped with a white bedsheet,
Bedecked with yellow marigold flowers,
Sindoor shining brightly in triumph
On her leukodermic forehead,
Freed at last
From the burden of living,
From her painful, asthmatic existence…

Riding triumphantly,
On the shoulders Of her loved ones
Chanting, “Hori Bol, Hori Bol”
She drifted out of our lives for ever…

Submitted: Tuesday, August 03, 2010
Edited: Wednesday, August 14, 2013

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