The Last Days

The last time I saw you alive was in a hospital,

Lying unconscious on a crumpled bedsheet.

You were breathing, I could see.

Though the doctors said it was artificial,

I felt relief with every rise and fall of your chest.

Besides a constant beep from a monitor,

There was an eerie silence in the room.

I had never seen you sleep so peacefully,

Like you had forgotten the world,

Like you had forgotten you were alive.

You look wearied by the dreadful battle

you had been fighting for 13 years.

Your skin looked pale and had scars

all over your arms, some fresh, some old 

but none seemed to fade away.

Your days seem to be very different now

Instead of Maa bringing tea every morning,

Nurses do rounds with vials and injections.

There’s no breakfast, supper or dinner

Only bottles of water, saline, plasma and blood.

There’s a constant murmur outside your room,

People keep talking about you.

Something about the number of days left,

Something about your platelets decreasing

Just something I pretend to ignore.

It seems like you have found comfort here.

You don’t respond to the voices around you.  

Is everything becoming an evanescent memory?

Look around, there’s so much left to see,

To feel, to grow, to love, to play,

Just not to the time to bid farewell.

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