Kill me slowly,

Under the burden of those dishes

I hear them clinking in my sleep.

Smile, smile more,

The silence engulfing the heat.

A strange stench A murder?

That is what has happened.

My room spits the aura.

I cry and cry and cry,

It's the onions.

The smell mixed with the air-conditioner.

I lay motionless under the burden of books.

Hair scattered on my white floor,

I collect them like grades,

Only to sweep them out in one sweep

On some fine sunny day.

Stomach grumbles in a dark room,

God haven't I had a meal 8 hrs ago?

What is this?

I get up, yet to prepare another meal

Another cut from the paper on my leg

One more scar to count.

I'm happy until I'm not,

I smile until I'm asked to

How much more to struggle?

I cough. Is this how my mother has

been feeling for the past years?

_

Riya Gupta, a literature major, is an over-enthusiastic person who loves to travel, make art and meet new people. 'I thrive on putting myself out there, travelling solo, exploring places and soaking in their history. Reality is my favourite genre to read and write about!'