A small and
dingy room.
Suffocating.
Disheveled.
Clothes stacked
up on the lone bed placed against the wall.
The only
window,
Grilled,
Bordering the bed,
Kept closed
Firmly enough
to eschew any light from piercing inside.
Trespassers
prohibited.
A frail old
man seated at the edge of the bed
facing the
neatly placed coffin on the floor
and its owner
beside: his 27 year old daughter.
Conscientiously,
she unscrewed the coffin
While her
father kept staring,
Unflinching,
Undaunted,
Waiting…
She silently
placed the cover aside
On the floor
And turned
her gaze to look indoors:
A
stone-studded necklace
Resting on
the bosom
Of the
blood-and-flesh-liberated skeleton!
The red pendant
dazzled and blinded the unvoiced spectators.
The drooping
and sagging old man asked:
‘Do you need
my help?’
‘No’, she
said,
‘I’ll bear
the yoke of my remnants;
I’ll have to
bear my own cross, Father!’
Out of the
room
And
Into the
dense woods,
A young
feminine frame kept under her own steam
Digging the
soil beneath
With the
bones of her own carcass
Hanging from
her shoulders…
