Death Of The Child

By Ayush Dubey

Why was I not taught to turn pages instead burn them!

When did the bad decision of burning pages turn into a bad habit?

The smell of my mother cooking my lunch, the sizzling sound of ghee and the smell that would cover the house,

That was enough flavour for me,

Cycling through the roads as fast as I could as I would feel the wind passing through me,

That feeling of rush was enough for me,

No clicking, no swiping on my phone,

Or my 6-year-old self, standing in the front of my uncle's scooter, stretching my hands like wings,

That feeling of flying was enough for me,

To bring life into me and wipe the frown from my face,

When I could come home hurt and sad but mother would read it all, just from my face,

When did communication became this hard mother? Why mother?

A time when my bed would make me sound asleep no matter how loud it was inside my house,

Now why has the noise, the sound entered me and captures my mind, why can't I doze off into that sleep,

Why do I need to talk myself into sleep now?

Mummy papa, is this what you felt as well?

Or are you too busy to keep that smile on my face,

So busy that you forgot or didn't even realise all that you burned away,

I wish I could give you some time, so you would stop burning everything,

And instead, for once, turn back pages and see,

See exactly the child inside you died.

By Ayush Dubey