Brown3 mins 24.6K 3 mins 24.6K
The eulogies were decorated and touching, as is always the tradition, but even words at times fail to do justice to emotions. This revelation came as quite an unpleasant surprise to David the writer, as he stood paralysed as a rock. The morbid expression on his face seemed carved in stone. And as the odd wind blew, he could not even move his hands to wipe the dust that had settled on his face. Tears cut through that dust much like a stream moves through earth, but David’s thoughts were in stark contrast with the cheerfulness of a stream, thoughts about his now deceased mother, and how her absence was that void that could never be refilled even as the earth would soon fill her grave.
“...Mrs. Brown was the politest and most courteous co-worker...”
Hollow. Well meaning yet meaningless all the same. But the word ‘Brown’ did induce a smile out of David. This most incongruous of colours had never once left his mother’s side. She was a Brown before marriage, a Brown after that and now in death; she would remain brown in the form of dust, as all must.
David was expected to write a tear-jerker of a eulogy, but words failed him again. He went up and recited whatever beautiful memories his sister had been able to conjure up for him. Tears followed nonetheless. He was glad though that the congregation gathered there could not peek into his mind. It was an understatement to say that David’s mother was the world to him. A mother’s love was the most unconditional and unselfish, an aspect David was convinced he would never comprehend, and now perhaps never feel again.
I remember the way she held me in her arms,
Like the cosmos in the lap of the earth & it’s rare charm
Oh, the touch of her soft hands caressing me,
& the lullaby she would sing, all there's in the world that I need to see
The sleepless nights she spent, the troubles she underwent,
The late night tales she would narrate, & the early morning breakfast at eight.
The most luscious brownie she would bake me, oh the smell of it
& the apple big smile she would flash, the lost puzzle it perfectly now fit.
“...Grant this mercy, O Lord, we beseech Thee...mercy of God rest in peace...”
So she made her last journey, one into the ground. Once all the formalities subsided, Dave skipped the car ride home and decided to walk the distance. He happened upon a beautiful forest and the nostalgic temptation to walk into a lap again, be it Mother Nature’s, took the better off him. The scenes that he encountered in there were nothing short of magnificent allusions. It was as if the earth was her mother personified, taking care of this wilderness as if it were David. Giving the trees the support to stand straight with their heavy heads held high, or the rabbits a burrow to rest, David was shaken. Is it you? Had his mother not shaped him like the Earth did to this stream? Is it you? The earth loved the forest; it seemed, with no returns desired. It is you.
“Mum...” Just as he was about to give his true heartfelt eulogy, an explosion of sound made him look up. The sight of a hundred birds flying up at the sun...maybe this was her last journey. Fly away.
And under the light of a thousand stars, she kissed my wounds, healed all my scars.
But what remain are monotonous rains, ceaseless thunderstorms & the void that has risen,
The pain of bereavement, the depth of my ache, none can fathom.
Now a little is said and a little left, the expression of my words fails,
As the silence of death, unearthed, is all that prevails.