Prologue to a Moment

A moment we live is an appreciation of the moment gone, perhaps spent by us. We live this moment to appreciate the previous one and to criticize sometimes.

At times we control tears. Though I feel most of the time we are controlled by them. I tried to console myself when I was supposed to console her.

The day she died I was there, standing on the ghats, trying to find the horizon on the other side of the river bank. The horizon was not there.

Trying to weave moments we shared together. Moments of happiness, sorrow, lullaby, tears. My last moments with her, lost forever in the horizon that was not there.

Near the pyre, the death bed, everything evaporated. Touched her hand for the last time.  Breath diminishes by moments, fragments of a moment. Counted the flowers in the rose plant. Trying to count left moments. Moments of life, we never know how many, still we try to count. I waited there, silent and still and had those moments count me.

I slowly turn the pages as if trying to read it for a longer time. Every piece of paper has one that follows it. I have reached the last page. Somewhere someone is reading from the beginning. She asked me if I will write about her death. No, I will not.

I lied to her to make those moments true.

This is a prologue to the next moment, a moment to live and to die for.