See you next fall. Maybe ?

The browning maple tree shelters me under its magnanimity for another long day. I meekly succumb to all the solace it had to offer and let it’s withered leaves float over me, comforting me with its caresses as I sat down to lament yet again this afternoon. Autumn has been kind to me all these years in its patient acknowledgement of my loss, allowing the universe to shed parts of itselves to mourn my loss. With one hand clutched to my chest and another on my stomach, I weep my heart out not being able to stand it any longer. My windpipes have given up on me, and they do not make a sound anymore. My tears too, sulk their way slowly down the corners of my eyes. The eyelids are exhausted and only wishes to close down on each other forever.

The meadows of the world are vast, infinitely vast as if they are reaching out to a land unknown where an ardent lover awaites it’s arrival. When I opened my eyes again, I watched my daughter gracefully spring towards the horizon from a distance. Her long long hair fluttering in the wind and bringing life to everything it touched. She has got her back to me and I cannot seem to decipher her face clearly. She’s far away, very very far. Also, probably angry that I have been crying again. I saw her long tender hands, an etch of her father’s that she proudly inherited, play with the tips of the plants she laid hands on all along her way.

I sat watching her in a daze for what seemed like an eternity and the hot tears that tore out of my eyes now hit the tendrils and weeds and grass which shuddered in pain with me. When the vision turns blurry, the laughter of my daughter too seemed to fade away with it into hollow nothingness at a distance as she runs into the horizon. And perhaps this is my toll, for not wanting you enough then when you sprouted as a surprise inside the walls of my feminity. But, now all I can think of is, Will I see your face next fall? And maybe you’ll have his funny nose and my sultry eyes just the way he always talked about. Maybe. Maybe not.

Published by Anju Dinesh

A writer is how I would love to have myself defined as. Who makes a lot of typos though. Thank God for all these apps that has come to my rescue. Probably not a very good one or successful one at that yet. But someone who did make an effort. Although I finish most of my articles in a haste every single time. And constantly worries if the piece is worth it or not.. Hasn't grown out of the cocoon yet. Hopes to one day write something for myself and not worry of being judged. Because invariably I write about things that makes it easy for the readers to judge to me. Yes I am hopelessly prejudiced about my writing and choice of topics. Goes low on self esteem more than often although I vaguely know that there is something about my writing that can probably strike a chord someday only if I tried a lot harder. Never works too hard. Never works too less. That Never been part of my system. Which means I always play the safe game.I hope to someday break out to that realm of fictitious world where my imagination will stay raw and free, my flow of words be effortless and there would be nothing around me that can stop me or bind me there. Oh Yes! I want to get there.

9 thoughts on “See you next fall. Maybe ?”

  1. Vishnu Babu says:

    Excellent one…. Short and Beautiful…. I loved the message most…. Apt one for the Day… 🙂

  2. Ajay C Shaji says:

    Nothing better than a friend’s work and happy when it turns out awesome??

  3. Irshad Ahamed says:

    That’s a very good metaphor for loss… Autumn… Even winter feels about right about the life after a loss… I can see u growing up as I read each of ur stories… Good mature writing… Keep up the good work…

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