I started writing this the day they prescribed the medicine to put you to rest.
We ran from one door to another, hoping to find the magical one
behind which lay all the answers to the disease eating away your soul.
To all the millions of deities that made their homes on our land,
We offered meals scrumptious enough to tempt the Devil,
All in the hope that one might find it in His heart to
Forgive you for the cross that you bear.
The lines on your palms couldn’t foretell your story,
Neither could the stars chart out your life path.
Your candle burnt brightly but way too quickly…
and it was all too soon that you left your job unfinished.
Mom’s dreams – unfinished.
The smile on her face – unfinished.
The colors in her life – unfinished.
The journey to the end of the line – unfinished.
So I stopped writing this.
Let this be another item to add to your list of unfinished things.