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2

Poetry

The knife carves peace on my wrist

Amogha

The lights are out:
Or is it my vision growing fader?
I try to flutter my eyelids,
Seems like I have no energy anymore.
I breathe; a gallon full of air.
My lungs are stiffening;
It's hard to take that much iron air,
I breathe out.
I'm lying on the cold floor:
Or is it a flower bed?
My body has number its senses, I guess.
It feels ticklish in my stomach.
A little cold in my extremities.
My body is a map of temperatures;
As hot as magma in the core,
As cold as the arctic in the limbs.
I can feel something warm;
Around my cheeks
It mimics the shape of water; but what is it?
Somehow my heart manages to beat.
I could feel the pace getting slower :
Am I dying?
I ask myself again and again,
Am I going away?
The question infests my brain.
Why is this happening?
I am dying, because today my name was on the list.
I raise a question, my consciousness answers.
Is this how it feels to be breathing the last bit of worldly air?
For ages, I longed for this day, but now that it is knocking my door, it's unsettling.
I find myself growing colder, someone left a bouquet for me.
I wonder, when I'm six feet under.
Will my thoughts be together or will they asunder.
I am tired, so I close my eyes;
And suddenly the abysmal darkness has turned into twinkles of the fairy lights.
I no longer smell the iron air, it smells of lavenders and vanilla.
My numb, cold body is now dancing to this rhythm, following the graceful pace of my breath.
The garden I dreamt of, is here.
I run through the grass and play with the butterflies.
The surge of happiness is ethereal.
Knocking every wood, trailing every path, my feet grew sore,
So I lay on the grass, tracing my core.
Lub-dub..........lub-du........lub.......dub........lub....
The horizontal line is now drawn.
The breath has simply become another gallon of air.
The euphoria sets in and I hug my peace.
The shady figure is no longer scary, it's sweet.
Oh! I know now, the peace I dreamt of, is this.

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