Deaths That Breathe

By Pragya Sadhana Neog

One day, my mind and heart had a little chat. The heart, in agony for causes unknown, asked the mind,

"When is it really, that one dies?"

The mind, weary from thoughts undefined, whispered as gently as a newborn Robin takes flight,

"Death is perhaps, different for all. Some die when their dreams do and some pass when they can no longer count their virtues..."

The heart was pained, for it knew, but wished the mind would say otherwise. It spoke again, in a pleading voice, said "Hey... Isn't death, supposed to be ending in decay? So why do these deaths you speak of, do not contain gore, or blood? Perhaps at least, a pause of the heart?"

The mind sighed, for it knew too, what the heart had thought it hid so well. That it was on the very verge of death, but it's destruction was not something one could spell... For it was as healthy as any other, pumping blood, but it wished to deny the soul's rotting smell.

"So, am I... Dying?" The heart spoke finally, after a heavy pause. It could not tear up, until it had told the mind to water the eyes. A prayer, to somehow make it all stop, this jigsaw of life...

By Pragya Sadhana Neog