The gold bangles that you mother had put gently in my hands the week before your destiny took me away from you and brought me closer to my fate here, now await patiently in the old embroidered jewelry box. For the first year or two, about two times a year I opened that box eager and excited. Yes, the gold still retained the shine, the exuberance. I wore them delighted, glamorized and comforted. Now years have passed and I not even have time To ponder upon the time that went between, or the bridges of thought that separate us. The giddy gold I’ve traded for the purple and red earthy beads that guys tell me make me exotic. I wear the wear and tear, of cheap affordable life. (The bright shines blind me now) Don’t tell me now I’ve spread myself thin It’s an art you earn after you’ve lost everything. By giving up the living, I’ve learned to love. By giving up the pining I’ve learned to pain. The gold, like heart does not shine forever, for all. ~Proma (Feeling a little homesick this Diwali)
Articles, Poetry and Short Stories by Proma Ray.