Jaya, the last of our three original ladies, died on Saturday. Coincidentally, they came into our lives within some ten months of each other, first Chipku, then Bhaloo and finally Jaya – and left also within a period of months, in the same order.
This poem was surging around inside me the last few days that she was ill.
In the evening,
Two moths flew in through the window,
Fluttering like signs of life.
Floating across the yellow plaster,
Black flakes torn off by time.
In the night,
Jaya’s breath filled the room as she
Fought to turn back the sea inside,
But the relentless currents flowed –
Dark puddles on the blood red floor.
Two clouds came together in anger,
Their rage boiling over in torrents.
Life and death rained on the earth,
Leaves poured down – green, yellow, red.
In the morning,
Jaya died on a silver table,
Bright brown eyes dark with questions.
At the end, her mouth fell open
And the two moths flew out and away.