Regrets On My Deathbed

By Divya Bharti

Oma unravels the weaved wool;

To make a new scarf for me;

I talk to her,

She gets up for some fresh air

bones creaking, body stooping;

Clad in her white cotton saree with golden zari;

Pressed.

Pinned.

Perfectly pleated; all at a span width.

Oma, I rush to hold her hands,

as she strolls in the garden.

Grass so green.

Orchids and Bromeliads.

Roses and Rosemary.

Buttercups, daisies and the clover,

Sky so clear and blue.

The sun shining ever so brightly.

Oma hugs the tree;

decades ago, Oppa sowed its seed,

she had come as his bride.

Oma enchants “Krishna has called me to the heaven”

To rejoice.

Reborn.

Replenish.

Oma collapses.

I carry her in my arms;

Oma spells her last words for forever and eternity;

“Every living creature on earth dies alone”;

from her favorite cinema ‘Donnie Darko’.

There is silence,

last unspoken moment.

Oma gazed, smiled and smiled some more.

Death kissed her forehead and whispered words of hope.

My grandmother, my Oma, she withered.

… beep…. Beep….. Beep......

I look at my ECG.

My ‘QRS’ complex fragments.

I approach my death; my end.

Heart palpitating faster.

I perspire.

I meet my death before I am dead.

I am thrown in morbid bed,

In dark abyss of nothingness.

Life reeking death.

Breath by breath;

I just breathe.

My heart to stop.

My lungs to empty.

I cry today for dreams unmet.

My tears but don’t take me back to onset;

I seek.

Of each breath I breathed of

Money.

Matter.

Material.

I lie supine. Gazing,

at the ceiling of this super deluxe ward;

Where money white washed the regrets of the dead.

I lie supine. Gazing,

an abstract fear surrounds me;

the regrets I've on my death bed.

In this darkest moment,

I wander through my mind,

searching for chapters,

few missing, few unfinished.

Inner me torniquet by the regrets;

Meaning of life appears on my deathbed.

Flowers have now died, skies no longer clear

Sun no longer shines;

It rains.

I promise the next life, I will give you a new metaphor.

Oh, my beloved; ‘my life’.

I see dust and dying embers mock my fire.

I see Yamaraja descend to take me along.

I try to smile as Oma;

Regrets on my deathbed; conspires my murder.

One more breath, next am dead.

There is a silence,

Last unspoken moment of,

Pain.

Despair.

Regret.

I breathe my last breath.

No palpable central pulse.

No audible heart sounds.

Breathless.

By Divya Bharti