The room smelt different
Was it the burning camphor or
The oil soaked wick
Dancing in the wind.
The windows were left wide open
The morning breeze
Trying to snuff and conquer
The naked flame of the oil lamp.
The House was lit up
Too bright and
Too crowded
For that times of the day.
The faint sobbing
Ebbing from some corner
Hurried steps down the corridors
Speaking only in Hushed voices
Added more uneasiness to the air
Then.
She looked calm and blissful
Sleeping pretty and relieved
I knew instantly
She would never to come back again to us ever
But why I had no tears to shed then.
