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

10^th December, 2017.