Walking in grief
He walks with obesity of grief,
He lifts himself but it is brief.
Monsoon in eyes sting like pricks,
He realigns the fractured mind with tricks.
Unwritten lines on empty hooks,
He masks off the masked grief in books.
The Bus Ride
Sometimes the smallest encounters leave an imprint that stays for longer than you would expect. A moment becomes a memory, amalgamated from both sweet and bitter experiences. I love the prairie summers, and getting home on the bus is my favorite part of the day. Sometime in July, 2024, I was all set to enjoy my bus ride. As usual, I preferred taking the seat close to the exit door. Holding my phone in my hand, I became engrossed in scrolling and was so lost in it that I didn’t realise what was going on around me. In the blink of an eye, I felt someone had pulled mobile phone from my hand. My instinctive reaction was the same as it had been when I was a child. Like a five-year-old, I cried out, “Mummy, mummy, please help me!” Interestingly, none of the passengers reacted. That left me with many questions, as well as regrets about how absorbed I had been in my mobile phone. I believed that my phone contacts, pictures, wallet, messages, notes and much more were gone, forever. My body wa...
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