A few minutes

I stare at the alarm

A few minutes before 4am

Waiting for it to ring.

I wait so that I can press the button

after its declaration and do my bit

in perpetrating muted agonies-

of journeys reduced to nothing.

The stories, memories and experiences of a lifetime

embodied in a body gone cold.

Of morals and advices gone into

rigor mortis; of histories meaning nothing

but chronicles in the end. Identities to be remembered

by one single photograph capturing a rare smile

Just like the single strand of hair

By the bedside

which is all that remains of that night.

Shruti Rao