the garden path was cleared,
leaving no impediments,
but jake’s grandfather was always cautious,
knocking his stick before himself,
and tracing his way, sensing objects.
the loss of eyesight, to him,
had been gifted very early in life.
monumentally had he overcome it,
by becoming a master,
of seeing without his eyes.
when Jake wasn’t at his workplace,
you could only find him by his grandad.
With the empty halls of the house,
surrounding the noise of void,
there they were, the two of them,
against all odds,
finding joy and reasons to laugh.
but it was only a week ago,
where they were robbed,
robbed of every prospective instance,
where they could even grin.
the grandfather had aged,
and last week had lost his ability to hear.
he thought, how closer to death can one get,
with only one’s shrieking voice as aid,
with darkness blinding,
and the silence ever-so deafening?
he wasn’t a master anymore,
not of anything,
but he was robbed.
thus, there he was,
in the garden, waiting for Jake,
only feeling the air, and the sensation of heat.
eventually, the sensation of heat had,
turned into a cool breezy one,
and it struck him,
his grandson was running late,
very late.
a car pulled up to their garage,
and an alien hand was placed on the grandfathers’ shoulder,
scaring him and throwing him off balance.
still vague,
he saw those hands helping him up,
unable to do otherwise,
he trusted them and sat down again,
and that hand grabbed the corner of his shoulder,
in consolation.
the same hands handed him a sheet,
with a message written in braille.
cornering every inch of the paper,
feeling the slightest of texture,
his hands started trembling,
he stood up, and started to run, blindly,
head-on, on the main road,
where he felt the vibrations of the horns,
and understood something came his way,
he opened his arms, closed his eyes,
and welcomed death,
and stood there,
till a truck obliterated his self.
jake had killed himself earlier,
because on his visit to the doctor,
he was told he had been diagnosed with cancer,
which couldn’t be cured.
how closer to death can one get?
he whispered to himself.
the grandfather had lived,
literally only for Jake’s presence,
but Jake threw away his life,
realizing things wouldn’t be the same
for him,
nor for his grandfather,
and thus, heavy lied the crown,
for either.
in the end,
someone cried.
it was the truck driver,
Because he had just witnessed his wife giving birth.
having to see both ends of life,
may have forever, traumatized him,
how closer to death can one get?
he thought.
on the 10th day, you do look back, and you see traces of your steps following you on that same muddy trail, and you have returned to that place, you aren't shocked seeing them, thinking they are not yours, you see your footprint, carved in the mud, its of a shoe, and you are wearing flip-flops now. you look down at your feet, knowing you have fresh footprints you are about to leave ahead, which will not match the previous ones, and you think, anyone else who witnesses these two sets of footprints, if they get as far in the mud as yourself, will not know they are the same person's. you realise nobody will know, nobody will know of those 10 days, but you do not stop realising there, you go further to think that nobody might even care to differentiate. where you stand now, you see you are not far from that cliff, which you had seen 10 days before, you are exactly where you left your journey, you are exactly where you turned back. somehow this time, you aren't as prepared...
Very nice Shaon..keep it up
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