Utopia

I always kissed him  On the forehead Before going away To school, to college, to Mumbai. Always kissed him goodbye Except now When I was home And he lay in the vault downstairs With a cannula in his leg And a drip hanging above Death Is ugly. He wouldn’t let  Any outsider touch him But today someone Shaved his leg To find a vein For the needle Someone who was assured That he wouldn’t bite He can hardly move I wished for a moment That he would fight Like he used to With dignity But death Strips it all apart. When I watched him  Gasping for breath It wasn’t with the hope That he doesn’t give up But with the desire To see his breathing get normal Again. Normal Is what we call a situation That is regular yet so perfect That it can easily Be taken for granted Until it ceases  To exist. We knew death was looming Although nobody spoke of it I knew we all wanted What was best for ...