The last wish
In November's chill on Rana Mohal's lane,
She showed me a shawl, dreams to attain,
Her last wish lingered, a poignant refrain,
But with 125 rupees, my hands feel restrained.
COVID's cruel grasp in GMC Doda's embrace,
Snatched her away, leaving an empty space,
Two cherished shirts I sold with a heavy heart,
To honor her wish, a fragile start.
Wrapped in that shawl, morning's pale light,
Clings to my half-dead soul's fading sight,
I breathe, yet the question echoes, unkind,
Why persist in this world, a heart confined?
Her love lingers, a tranquil sleep's embrace,
But my nights echo, devoid of solace or grace,
No one to rouse, no gentle voice to say,
"Kya kar ra ho?" in each lonely day.
I exist in the shadows of memories past,
Aching to make each moment last,
Yet her absence weighs, a burden I bear,
In a world devoid of her tender care.
In this solitary existence, I strive to survive,
Aching heart, wounded, yet somehow alive,
But in every breath, in each moment's glow,
I carry her wish, her love, her enduring glow.
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