Back to Normal

A day or two after the cremation,
 the flat
Opposite ours seemed to have reverted back

To its former aura of normalcy.

And as the days progressed, this clockwork regularity attained

The unnerving air of a military regime;
Wet laundry dangled from a friable clothesline,

Desperately trying to seduce the sun.

The potted plants wilted away, ruins writhing in dust,

Each gust of wind, merely adding to their agony.

The pressure cooker whined, in short salivary bursts,

Heralding the somnolent afternoon, as the utensils chuckled,

While being bathed by the help who constantly questioned

Her existence and her mortality.

And then one day, in a departure from this lull,

The mother of the household could be seen strolling in the balcony.

Watering can in hand, she seemed to have aged by an eternity.

And as we all watched, with bated breath,
She extended her hand towards a plant,

(Her eyes all the time scanning the skies,
Searching for answers amidst the gaps in the clouds,)

While the water, missing the pot completely and

Drenching the wrinkled clothes hanging below,

Fell to the ground in an angry, unearthly splash.
The cremation, apparently, was now finally complete.