Bio Note: An Indian writer, the fractured nature of lives led in the city of my residence, Mumbai, continues to intrigue me, and constantly works itself into my writing. My published works of fiction include a novel, Cappuccino Dusk and two collections of short stories, Vinegar Sunday and Lamplight: Paranormal Stories from the Hinterlands. I review books and write on human interest issues for the newspapers. Contributing short stories and poems to online magazines in a sporadic manner is an ongoing passion; most of these revolve around the secret yearnings of seemingly ordinary urban people.
Darkest of afternoons November in my soul, home alone, once again. The tunnel of rooms stretch empty and silent, sentinel, python witness, to my splintering. The doorbell is unlikely to ring on a day as dark as this. The tree-tops outside my windows, cavort in their macabre dance, gleeful to resonate as I disintegrate, slowly, but surely. Cold westerly winds cut into my viscera, disappointed at finding no blood within, merely arid desolation. A perfect day, really, To end it all. Fall like a dead weight into the abyss between lunch and siesta, should I….? Attain, finally, that enviable state, that goes by the fanciful term, ‘oblivion’ of the eternal kind…? Storm ravaged sparrows arrive shrieking at the windows their fidgety diamond eyes seeking refuge. Who am I, to shoo them away? Windswept myself, and born of a thousand storms. Could these birds truly be the souls of the dear departed sent to watch over me in my hour of crisis? Darkest of afternoons, November in my soul, a perfect day for endings. But not today, maybe not today… I’ll hang in here awhile, pause analyze reflect reconsider reconstruct events, take stock, once more, of the balance sheet of life, procrastinate. Maybe, and then maybe not, stall the death wish for now. Today, I might choose to merely tend to the shivering sparrows, stay alive, another day.
©2022 Kankana Basu
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