Olive Chaudhuri

                                7th February 2019 Rose day: On your tombstone, it is written – “On 14th of February, Peter Stan went out of love to give, but never stopped receiving it.” It has been 14 hours and 359 days since you passed away. I miss you. Today is rose day, so I’ve come to celebrate it with you. I put a red rose on the ground – underneath it, you’re sleeping peacefully. I sit there with a blank mind, scratching the dirt. I wonder if departed people find love beyond death, too? I think of your beautiful face, the last time I saw you, your lips were pale, you had lost your hair and your eyes were heavy, but somehow, you were smiling. You with your goddamn beautiful smile. I look at the rose lying above you that will always remain unaware of your touch. In this sudden silence, I remember an old conversation we had. You had said, “I’m like a rose. I open petal by petal. Before I t...

//  As I sat there, looking down my terrace with a cigarette between my fingers, I felt empty. It felt like all the reasons I loved about being alive, are suddenly my reasons to end my breathing. I was smiling with tears, as smoke exhaled after every drag was vanishing in heavy winds like the 15 stories high building is consuming more cigarettes than my lungs. “Aasra!” Namit said out of breath. “I knew I would find you here” “Hey” I smiled. His presence to me does what charging do to a dying battery. He came and sat with me carefully. “This part of terrace has no railings, you should be very careful here Aasra, especially during nights.” He was right how come I never thought about jumping from here? How will it feel like? Then I can hear my own voice roaring in air like thunder while going down. But, what about the burden of culpability I am carrying? Will it vanish with my breathing? “Aasra” He signalled on the cigarette which was now ignited to the verge of the filter end and abo...