Mamta Kalia

Said—I used to love this man.
Had got his letter only yesterday,
He wanted to say so many things to me.
That man, was as if listening to everything.
As if it was only sleep that he had
fallen into, on that street.
He wanted to narrate the cause of his death.
He did not want people
to have misconceptions
about him after his death.
Just then, came an old man
from some far-off land
and said—this is my son.
I knew he would not be
able to survive in this world.
That dead man on the street
came back to life for a while.
Shook hands with his friend,
kissed the woman
and greeted his father
with folded hands.
Said he—please go home
and live in peace.
Look, I am not dead yet.
And the man became immortal
as soon as he said that.
April-June 2010 :: 59