By Rishabh Mehta
Would you rather be dead?
As I lay breathing heavily
In a dim room
On a creaky bed
And the nurse asks me again
Would you rather be dead
She reminds me
Of someone I knew not long ago
Someone who left
Without a note, a trace
Like a feather in the snow
I was bereft
Of myself
Of my will
To live
Or breathe
Or still
Realise as time went by
And the birds didn’t fly
The weather didnt change
And there was nothing strange
About it
We had something special
And I couldn’t see without it
Not my present Not my future
Only a past and that was a torture
The happy memories give you smiles
They also give you sleepless nights
By not being anymore
It’s a lovers folklore
Would you rather be dead
The nurse shakes my bed
Shows me the bottle of poison I couldn’t drink all of
Disgustingly
Almost grudgingly
Throws it in the bin
Smacks her lips
Nods her head
And asks my stone eyes again
Would you rather be dead
Hey Rishabh,
Nice poetry. I like the piece where you write
“I was bereft
Of myself
Of my will
To live
Or breathe
Or still”
In the short but powerful lines, you create a rhythm and there is a desperation in it that comes forward.
Nice work.
Cheers.
I can’t describe in words, what I felt. The way you express, each and every single word touched my heart.
Amazing work. Good luck!!?
I won’t die to-day for the dice is still at the wheel.
The pain of the past.. “would you rather be dead” very nicely portrayed..
Beautifully written. Loved it! :)