HEY ROSALINE
“We lived
through scars this time,
But I’ve
made up my mind
We can’t
leave us behind anymore.”
-James
Bay, Scars.
 |
| Photosource: Pinterest. |
Hey
Rosaline,
It is just
as you have dreamed, or the dream that you’ve told me of what you always
wanted. Rosaline, they found you by the river where you stayed awake looking at
the ripples rushing away. Some said you were found hanging from a wire that
looked like grape vine, some said your soul was sucked out till your last
breath by chemicals that you forced in yourself. And then some said that you
liberated yourself like a puff of vapor, an invisible puff of vapor. But we
know what happened, don’t we? Your secret is safe with me.
The slow
music is playing in the hall, with you lying peacefully in a casket filled with
bed of roses. You hated roses, do this people even know you? Or they put you
there because your name has ‘rose’ in it. There are so many unfamiliar faces in
the crowd, smeared in red, black, gold; the palette all artist chose. But these
people are the ugliest paintings, filled with pretension, masked with fake
tears and frowns. They sneak in the casket to see you, and they murmur, “She
was a nice girl”, “She didn’t deserve to die”, “Why did she kill herself
anyway?”, “It must be a love failure”. Rosaline, don’t listen to their whispers
and lies, these are the hymns that drove you to the riverside, choosing
whatever you chose to open the cage, so that you could disappear into thin air.
The wet tissues smeared with the lipstick lies beside your coffin, like the
tissues that wiped away the life that trickled down your palm, embracing the
scars. Those white papers had life. The ones lying next to you, they are dead;
just like you. Listen to the playlist being played in the hall, for you
handpicked them before you left. Rosaline, you deserve this beautiful funeral.
You deserve all the beautiful things in the world.
They are
wrapping you in a shiny white cloth, tying your legs, hands and face. They are
trying to lock you again Rosaline, but fear not. I am here, I’ll be here till
you come again; appear again somewhere in the universe. And when you come, I’ll
be there by the riverside, my palm opened to embrace yours; the one filled with
scars, pills and booze.
They lit
the fire to your pyre, and you look like the most peaceful camp fire I have
ever seen. They are contaminating the soil you are lying in with their snot,
tears and existence. But fear not Rosaline, I’ll clean that up before you come
again. For now, sway with the smoke rising towards the sky. You’ll form the
densest cloud in the darkest sky, the darkest cloud called Rosaline. You’ll
fall as the purest rain by the river side, and I’ll be there with open palms,
feeling you again as you descend; this time for a better life and for a better
time.
-Krishna
J. Nair, Hey Rosaline
10th
December, 2017.
